


the glamorous life of a CI

by coyotl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Accidental Drug Use, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Blood and Gore, Bottom!Stiles, Cock Rings, Come play, Consent Issues, D/s undertones, Drug Use, Face-Fucking, Gags, Hand Feeding, Killing, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, PTSD flashbacks, Possessive Behavior, Public Hand Jobs, Sensory Deprivation, Snowballing, Somnophilia, Top!Derek, Top!Stiles, Underage Drinking, Violence, belt whipping, bottom!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-04 02:17:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 74,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1762723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyotl/pseuds/coyotl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>future sci-fi AU in which Stiles is recruited into being a confidential informant and Derek is his biomechanically enhanced agent/babysitter/bodyguard.  And things happen. Smexy things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> -All edits in 2017 are minor in nature-
> 
> As usual, not beta'd, cuz fuckit.

He should have known, should have trusted that nagging feeling that had made his footsteps stutter as he rounded into the alley, but Stiles was running late on the drop and he took a particular amount of perverse pride in doing his job well. Regardless of what all those honest hard-working folk out there would have thought of the particular job he had.

Hadn’t been paying attention, but still wasn’t surprised when a lean figure pushed himself off a wall, putting himself between Stiles and the way through. It had been just the kind of day he was having. Perfectly topped off with an ambush. Still didn’t appreciate the swagger and cocky when the guy spoke up.

“Well, look who showed up. I was starting to lose hope in you, kid.”

Stiles didn’t bother turning, sensing someone else behind him before a soft footstep on gravel gave him away. “I told you he’d come. He’s that kind of reliable.”

He didn’t see reason to tense up quite yet. It really wasn’t his first rodeo, after all. “Look guys, I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re doing, but I’m on a tight schedule and the Duke doesn’t like it when his deliveries are late.”

The Duke was another reason he felt no need to panic. Usually just mentioning his name got him a free pass, the law of the jungle being ‘prey only on those weaker than you’, and the law of these streets being ‘everyone is weaker than Deucalion’. At least, everyone who skulked in alleys and waited to ambush young men on drug runs.

Apparently these guys hadn’t gotten the memo. Still not enough of a reason for Stiles to panic out of hand. He’d made his way out of tighter fixes than this. He slid his switchblade out of its wrist holster as he watched the guy in front of him saunter in his general direction.

The guy was good looking enough, his goatee a decade out of style but dapper none-the-less, tailored slacks and collared shirt rolled up at the elbows definitely nailing the whole ‘dress casual’ thing. Nice, but not so expensive as to be memorable.

The shoes though. Nice enough, sure, and unimpressive if you didn’t know what you were looking for. But Stiles did. And those shoes? Were steel-toed and thick-soled of the sort that were guaranteed non-slip, but flexible and lightweight enough that you could run a fucking marathon in them.

Stiles knew because he’d gotten his dad a pair not too long ago, found them trawling through mercenary catalogues. They were service shoes, the kind that didn’t stand out if you were passing for a civilian, but didn’t muck up or slip out from under you if you happened to have to run through a puddle of mud. Or blood. Which was more to the point. That was the kind of detail that did make him a bit nervous.

And when the guy’s head snapped up, locking on him in sharp interest the minute Stiles’ heart started running? That was enough to make him panic. There was a chance he’d just walked into something he was severely underclassed to deal with.

But who the hell would send augmented security personnel to fuck with a low level runner, anyway? Especially in Beacon. The city was pretty much parceled and wrapped up tight, had been for generations now, factions having carved out their corners a long time ago.

The whole situation was the kind of wild-card fluke that had Stiles jumping out of his skin, had him overreacting before thinking out all the variables, and when the bastard had him planted face-first into a brick wall before Stiles had even had a chance to lift his arm, it had Stiles kicking himself for not having made the most obvious connection.

The guy wasn’t just augmented enough to hear heartbeats, the guy was _fully augmented_ , enough that there was no give whatsoever in the arm that was keeping him pressed up against the wall, enough that Stiles hadn’t even registered the move before the guy had him disarmed and subdued. And the only people who would waste that kind of a resource on screwing with a low-level drug runner were not members of any faction. They were the law.

Which, really, was exactly the kind of day Stiles was having.

Didn’t stop him from trying to squirm free, but all that managed to do was make it easier for the second guy to pull the pack off his back. And from the light huffing behind him, they thought it was funny. That had Stiles smacking his hands against the brick in frustration, hissing _fuck_ when the sting of it finally reached his brain.

“You might as well stop, kid. You’re not going anywhere until we say you are.” The guy’s voice was no more troubled than it had been when the whole shakedown had started.

Stiles figured that was what he was looking at, a couple of lawmen looking to bolster their meager wages, figured he was in for a hell of a ride having to explain to the Duke why his drop was not only _late_ , but also _light_ , and Stiles could only hope that his good standing and reputation would keep him from getting killed.

On the bright side, maybe if he kept his head screwed on he’d be able to remember these two knuckleheads well enough that he could hand them over to Deucalion. _That_ would give him a certain kind of satisfaction. He hated dirty cops. Personally.

They were the reason his life was the sick joke it had become, after all. Sheriff’s kid dealing drugs to schoolchildren and whatnot. Not that he knew for a fact that what he was carrying would end up in the hands of children, but who was he kidding? He’d _been_ one of those schoolchildren not very long ago, after all.

He tried to turn his head, maybe get a look at the other guy, but his head was pushed forward, hard into the brick, and the sound of a loud click was followed up by a short sharp stab right into the base of is neck, right at the hairline. He knew what that was. He knew _exactly_ what that was and it made his blood run cold.

This was not what he had thought, not by a long shot. It was way, way worse. It wasn’t even a consolation that they’d finally let go of him. He could only press his forehead against the brick and squeeze his eyes shut when the guy who’d been doing all the talking spoke up again.

“Welcome to the glamorous life of a confidential informant for the DEA, kid.”

His chipper little lilt was the last straw. Stiles whirled but stayed pressed back up against the wall, as if it could somehow keep him safe, keep his whole world from flying apart. “This is complete _bullshit_! I know my rights – you can’t just snap some fucking tracking bug into me like a fucking pet and figure I just have to take it ‘cause you’re the high-and-mighty motherfucking D-E-fucking-A!”

The guy’s smug little grin was enough to make Stiles want to vomit. “You’re exactly right, Mr Stilinski. You are under no obligation to work with us on any level. I just can’t help but wonder what your dad might think, though, when he has to read a report on how his son was found carrying... how much? A couple pounds?”

He turned to the other guy, who was lifting his backpack on a hook with a scale. The guy’s voice was soft. Professionally precise. “Two-point two pounds, give or take.”

The first guy looked back at Stiles, face a mockery of serious sincerity. “You know what that sounds like? Sounds exactly like a kilo, to me, son. Which means it’s likely uncut as of yet. So what do you think your father, _the Sheriff_ , is going to think, Stiles, when he has to read through a report featuring his _own son_ smuggling pure-grade Colombian horseshit in his own back yard? How do you think that’s going to go over?”

It sucked the wind right out of him, even though he’d known what the bastard was going to say before he’d even gotten started. Stiles pressed his hand against the back of his neck, inspecting the little smear of blood he pulled off. Wondered how hard it would be to carve out the fucking tracker they’d just planted into him. Likely it was nowhere near as easy to take out as it had been to put in.

Probably had to be done by a healthcare professional, and there was no way Stiles was going to try to explain having a tracker implant to any kind of a healthcare professional, not one above-board and certainly not ever a black market doctor. It was ridiculous, the amount of shit Deucalion had on his enemies and allies just because he had solid connections in the health industry. And being implanted with a government-grade tracking device? That was a death sentence, no questions asked.

_No questions asked_ , as in the second anyone found out he was bugged he’d be killed. In fact it was hard not to think of himself as already dead. But that was a line of thought he needed to sit on, hard, before everything closed in on him and he forgot how to breathe. His dad needed him. In the end, this was just more of the same, the whole world trying to shit down the Stilinski’s throats, and he couldn’t afford to let it slow him down.

His dad needed him. He had to remember that. His dad might have no need of the cocky troubled and unteachable teen the youth authority had labelled him as, but his dad needed Stiles. He’d seen what had happened after his mom died, hell he lived through the darkness, and when things finally got better, Stiles swore that he would never be the one to fuck his dad up that badly again.

Not that the shit-show he’d made of his life would be doing his dad any favors, but the man still had his job and his good name and Stiles was still alive. Everything he did now, Stiles did to keep those three things intact. This was just another tight space he was going to have to grease himself out of.

The other guy, the one that on any other occasion Stiles would have been panting over, what with his dark stubble, gorgeous face and water-clear eyes, (not to mention a body which was not entirely dependent on augmentation to reach Greek-god proportions) shook Stiles out of the last thread of panic by shoving the backpack into Stiles’ chest.

If he wasn’t by DEA default a douche, Stiles might have thought he could see concern in the way the guy lifted an eyebrow. But Stiles wasn’t about to fall for that bullshit. He sneered out half a nasty grin as the guy stepped away, and the guy's eyes lit up with actual fucking mirth in response.

The well-dressed douchebag agent had been fiddling with a hand-held device. There was stillness for a minute, just on the edge of awkward as goatee douche agent tapped on the screen and gorgeous douche agent stood, arms crossed, making the sleeves of his leather jacket creak with the strain. Right before Stiles thought he might crawl out of his skin entirely the goatee agent cleared his throat, handing the device over to the other guy and looking back at Stiles, cocky smirk in place like it had been tattooed on.

“For the purposes of this investigation, my name’s Peter, and this here is Derek. In the interest of full disclosure, you’ve been implanted with an E47B tracking tag, which will emit a discrete, untraceable signal. Although use of the tag has as yet remained undetected, we recommend using caution when entering any high-security area and keeping a phone on standby mode with you at all times to explain any emissions which might be detected. We will know immediately if you should try to tamper with, disable or remove the device, and trust me, the side effects of dicking around with it aren’t something you want to experience. The signal emission will remain active for seventy two hours after its power source – and that would be you, in case you aren’t following along – ceases to function. So _we can and will find you_ , even if you’re dead.”

Stiles snorted. “Bet you’ve had lots of chances to determine that one, haven’t you?”

It was bitter, and rightfully so, and was _supposed_ to be a barb, but the way that the quiet agent’s eyes went dark, the way the other guy put a hand on his arm, as if to stop him from saying or doing something, it was all so intimate and _painful_ that Stiles had to bite down hard to keep from apologizing.

_Derek_ , Stiles reminded himself as he stared back, chin raised in a challenge. Apparently, at some point, he’d given a fuck about someone. And apparently it hadn’t gone so well. That wasn’t going to make him feel any better.

Neither was Peter’s decidedly less cocky, clipped response. “Yeah. We don’t make it a habit of loosing CI’s Mister Stilinski.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, slipping the pack back on. “If you’re trying to make me feel any better about this, you’re doing a mega-shitty job of it, _Peter_. And seventy-two hours is hardly enough time to dredge the reservoir, so...”

Derek did move forward that time, past Peter’s grasp, closing in with his head dropped, looking at Stiles through his lashes and that? That just wasn’t fair. Gorgeous, is what it was. It took Stiles’ breath away, knocked him off balance enough that he had to drop back half a step.

His voice was the same soft and clear, not as deep as Stiles had been expecting, but with a _smooth_ that Stiles wanted to roll around in. “Not going to let you die, Stiles. Trust me. I’m going to be looking out for you.”

And it was a bitch and a half that his whole damned _body_ wanted to trust Derek, but history had shown that his body had monumentally bad ideas about what was good for him, so Stiles was going to ignore the part of him that wanted to ease up into the guy’s personal space and make itself at home.

He let out a choked little laugh instead and backed away with a shake of his head. “Yeah, sure. At least until I’ve given my testimony, right?”

Peter stood next to Derek with his head cocked to the side. “That’s not what we need you for, Stiles. Your dad’s a good man, he doesn’t need to be put though that.”

Something about the intensity in his voice brought goosebumps up, and he thought maybe he should feel something pissed and bitter about the fact that he’d brought his father up again, but Stiles found himself leaning in instead. The way those two stood together, like they were aware of each other in a way that didn’t need words, like there was so much between them that went unsaid. It felt like secrets, was what it did, and it pulled him in the way that nothing else could.

“So what is it you want from me, then?” He couldn’t even help the way his own tone had hushed.

Peter’s cocky grin made a reappearance and the mood just fucked off into another county. “Nothing much, actually. You know those nature shows where they hook a tracking device on to some unsuspecting wild animal? Just think of it that way. We just want to watch your migratory patterns, Stiles.”

Stiles stiffened, not entirely certain if he was feeling the sting of betrayal or the sting of stupidity for letting his guard down for a second as he watched Derek turn his back without looking up and Peter stepped away as well with a shooshing wave of his hands.

“So, go on, little Stiles. Fly. Be free.”

Yeah. It was definitely the sting of stupidity. Stiles turned on his heel and stalked off. He thought maybe he should be used to that feeling by now. It kind of surprised him how much that kind of shit still hurt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Or, in other words, it was the kind of night that seemed tailor-made for him to go out and find himself some sort of trouble. And if there was one thing Stiles excelled at, it was getting into some sort of trouble. He had that on good authority._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for attempted non-con. See end notes for more details.

An E47B tracking device, for the record, was a bitch of a device to be implanted with, apparently. At least, that was the gist of what little he could glean off the internet access bank in the library. But it wasn’t like he was going to look up any information on his own portals at home. Not even on private browsing.

Not having a browser history of the searches you tracked was pretty much useless if someone had a real-time bug on your system, and he wasn’t about to kid himself into thinking that Duke was above snooping. Likely Stles was already on the man’s radar as it was, having pulled the drop short the night before and left the stash in a locker at a private gym he’d been given a pass to for just that very sort of occasion.

He’d even worked out to cover for the drop, something he never did, _ever_ , as in, he didn’t run unless something was chasing him, and yet, there he was, 45 fucking minutes on a treadmill, how the fuck was this his life, even? He ended up stuffing some towels and a couple water bottles in his pack before leaving so it wouldn’t look empty, like a goddamned counter-agent or something.

Not that he had any confidence that anything he did would cover his tracks, but even if the whole thing was pointless he was going to play it like it wasn’t. After all, even if the DEA douchebags knew exactly what he was doing, he still had Deucalion’s guys watching him, had to play like he thought no one was on to him. There was no bigger tell than getting sloppy.

Apparently Deucalion bought Stiles’ version of events, which started exactly the way his day had really started, but ended when he spotted some guys “laying in wait” in the alley he usually cut through. He told Duke that he had gotten a bad feeling about it all, and Duke seemed willing to indulge in Stiles’ getting spooked. After all, Stiles had instincts that had proven trustworthy in times past.

And Duke knew that Stiles had far too much on the line to risk crossing him. Made sure to remind Stiles of that, and Stiles made damned sure to keep his tone and inflection pitch-perfect for the man, giving him exactly the pissed off and cornered teen he’d always given the man.

Stiles had yet to determine if the guy really thought he had Stiles pegged, or if he’d come to realize the implications of his having a dad with a record of arrests made as illustrious as his father’s, with the amount of confessions he’d pulled out of thin air. But Stlues had let his guard down once around Deucalion and it ended up with him being outright owned, so he made it a point to present the man with one face and one face alone, figuring that even if the man saw it as a mask, that mask would still make it hard for him to see what was going on under it.

And it wasn’t like it was out of character for Stiles to be in the library. After all, most of his “Self-Guided Educational Curriculum” took place in the library, since he found it next to impossible to keep his mind focussed on any single activity at home. And he wasn’t going to fuck up the self-run program, had promised his dad in every way he could that he’d stay on track to graduate. He’d already fucked up every other option that the school system had seen fit to provide, and he wasn’t about to let his dad get into massive debt by sticking Stiles into a private school.

He couldn’t decide which was more ironic, that Stiles probably had enough cash stashed away at this point that he could likely pay for it himself, or that his dad thought that the idea of having to go to a military academy was what had scared Stiles straight. And he wasn’t even going to think about how Duke had already offered to provide Stiles with a bonafide diploma. As if that kind of event wouldn’t have the Sheriff dragging Stiles into an interrogation room faster than shit.

The thing about the Library’s system, though, was that although you could access a whole hell of a lot of different sorts of data without prejudice, it started locking you out the minute your informational search went from credible sources to second-hand accounts and anecdotes. So while he could confirm that these tracking devices existed, were used by various government agencies, did not cause brain tumors or delusional behavior, (there’d been a lawsuit. It had gotten thrown out when it turned out the guy didn’t have a brain tumor and had been delusional a lot longer than he’d been implanted), and were not, in fact, bugs capable of broadcasting anything other than location, Stiles couldn’t confirm that anyone had managed to successfully remove one on their own.

And a set of tweezers and two mirrors? Left him having something close to a seizure on the bathroom floor. And hurt like a motherfucker. Which left him facing the oncoming night without adult supervision or a job to pull, a bitchy little headache, and an itch that felt two breaths short of a panic attack.

Or, in other words, it was the kind of night that seemed tailor-made for him to go out and find himself some sort of trouble. And if there was one thing Stiles excelled at, it was getting into some sort of trouble. He had that on good authority.

Stiles also had a hella decent fake ID, courtesy of the Duke himself, although he made sure to stay the fuck away from Deucalion’s places of business. The ID got him through the door after his too-tight T-shirt and indecently low cut jeans got him past the line. He couldn’t decide if it was his reputation or his aura of hell-raising jail bait that got him a drink before he’d even found himself a spot leaning against the bar, but he wasn’t going to complain, drinking with his back to the bar, elbows resting on the counter, getting a feel for what the night had in store.

There was a decided edge to the night. It wasn’t the weekend or late enough to be very crowded, but the press of bodies was warming up on the dance floor, and there seemed to be an abundance of predatory gazes drifting through the crowd. It was the kind of dangerous that sent a tingle down his spine, loosening him up enough that he didn’t really even need the no-doubt obscenely named concoction he sucked down.

He was lost to the beat and heat of bodies moving against his in no time, feeling the heady weight of eyes on him. He knew what he looked like, had gotten really good at making himself into something that men wanted, drank in their hunger and attention like a drug, like the drinks they kept offering when he’d take a break back at the bar. He let them sort out amongst themselves who the top contenders were before he even bothered to show discernment.

It’s not that Stiles had low standards, it’s that on nights like these he had very simple needs. To be the center of someone’s attention. To be touched. To be wanted. To come or make somebody else come, he wasn’t picky, as long as it brought the world down into a focus sharp enough that all the things that were ripping him apart bled out and became colorless and unimportant.

He didn’t need to get to know the other guy as long as his hands were sure and confident, didn’t need to know his name or even recognize him if he saw them again. Just needed something certain in that very moment. And there was one guy in particular that night, tall and nicely cut, smelling of sharp cologne, who seemed intent enough to fill Stiles’ needs.

Stiles tried to tell him that he didn’t need to buy another drink, but the guy wasn’t listening, and hey, he wasn’t going to turn down free liquor, not even on a bad day, even if it did mean the corners of things were getting a little hazy. Hazier than he’d expected, but that might have had to do with that unnecessary exercise he’d done the night before or the seizure he’d had that night, he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t really care.

He just let himself lean against the nice man with the big hands and the drinks and let himself float a little, or a lot really, until he lost track of time and couldn’t exactly remember where he was. Stiles tried to tell Tall and Handsome that it was likely time to get the show on the road if there was to be a show, but the guy motioned to Stiles’ drink instead. And he did have a point. It would be a shame to leave a half-finished drink behind.

He kept getting the nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right, but couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Until Derek showed up, and that cleared things up immensely.

Stiles lifted a lazy hand and pointed at him, voice a little more slurred than he would have liked. “ _You_. Shouldn’t be here.”

Derek raised a single eyebrow. “Funny, I was about to say the same to you.”

He reached out to pull Stiles away by the wrist but Stiles noodled his way out of Derek’s grasp, leaning more heavily against the guy behind him. “Nu-uh. I don’t think so. You’re a douchebag and I don’t like you, so you should just fuck the fuck off, _Derek_.”

Derek looked about ready to argue at least one of those points when Tall and Handsome cut in. “You heard him, douchebag. Fuck the fuck off.”

Ooooohh, Stiles liked this guy. Not that he needed to be rescued, mind you. But the way Derek’s eyebrows rose like the guy was a fifth grader trying to land a punch was priceless. Of course that was before his eyes lit up and he smiled a smile that was exactly what a snarky grin wanted to grow up to be. Something about that gave Stiles the sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t going to have the upper hand for long.

“Look, asshole. This kid? Is seventeen.” Stiles could feel the warm back behind him stiffen at that and Derek leaned in, showing all his teeth. “And also? His dad’s a cop.”

“Hey! hang on, that’s not...” But there wasn’t a point in arguing was there? Not since the guy practically vanished into thin air with a hiss, leaving Stiles with a cold back and decidedly less balance than he thought he’d had.

He couldn’t even fight it when Derek grabbed him by the wrist again and dragged him forward. Couldn’t help stumbling into him and grabbing his ridiculously sculpted arm when Derek started making for the exit with purpose in his stride, which was a damn shame, really, but there was no call for Derek to stare at the hand on his arm like it had called his mother a whore, either.

After all, if the bastard would stop with the walking, Stiles could think of a lot of other places he could put his hand instead. And he must have said that out loud, because before he knew what was happening, Derek was frog-marching him out the door at arms length with a hand on the back of his neck. He finally stopped a couple blocks later, turning Stiles and pushing him up against a wall, holding him there with a hand on his chest and a finger in his face until Stiles stopped squawking like a wounded and confused duck.

He looked about to say something when Stiles beat him to the punch. “You do know the age of consent around here is sixteen, right?” The way Derek snapped his mouth shut made it impossible for Stiles to fight off his smug grin.

Except the eyebrow made an appearance again, as did the toothy grin. He really wanted to hate that stupid wolf-face, but there was something completely wrong with the way that Stiles was wired, and the fact that the asshole looked capable of dismembering him without shedding a tear had him half-hard and way too flustered to be able to get with the hating.

He had to wonder if horny was thing Derek could pick up on with his super-cop senses, because he pulled his hand off like he’d been burnt and Stiles nearly fell off the wall and on to his face with the loss of pressure. Stiles caught himself and straightened, then kicked himself mentally when he realized that he just missed the perfect opportunity to face-plant into Derek’s crotch-region, but the guy’s voice cut through before the regret could really set in.

“Sure Stiles, I’m aware of that. Just like I know exactly how illegal it still is to give alcohol to a minor. _And_ how illegal it is to drug somebody, no matter how old they are.”

It took Stiles a minute to let that sink in and make any kind of sense, but Derek was kind enough to stand back with his arms crossed over his chest while Stiles pulled his braincells together, with only a minimal amount of eyebrow-judgement.

 _“Drugged?”_ Huh. Well, that would explain why it kept feeling like the wall behind him was trying to push him away and his legs were made of wet sponges. And why it seemed to be getting harder and harder to bring letters into any kind of order that might make words.

And he was sure Derek was saying something in response, but either the drug was finally kicking into high gear or he was just highly susceptible to outside influences, because he was going down so fast that he had no idea what language the man was speaking.

Except for the last little moment of lucidity, when he felt himself slide halfway to the ground and end up draped over Derek like a dead man. He did hear Derek whisper _fuck_ in a breath that was just a little too heated to be pissed off. He tried to laugh about it, but ended up sounding like a drowning man instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone drugs Stiles' drink at a bar, but Derek stops them before they can take advantage.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Stiles decided that if there was a Santa after all, he was going to kick him in the balls hard enough to make him bleed._

Stiles came to like a diver breaking surface, gasping hard and desperate, clutching a his heart like someone had punched it. He gasped out _holy shit_ with a half-strangled shout before it occurred to him that he had no idea where he was and that making any noise at all might put him in danger or, at worst, get his dad’s attention, if he was at home and he was just pulling out of a nightmare.

That had happened more than once. Actually, Stiles would say that it had happened one too many times, if the failed attempt at putting him through therapy was anything to go by. But that was a lifetime ago, and his dad hadn’t come bursting through the door yet, which was kind of a good thing, given that he was realizing that he wasn’t at home.

Didn’t know where he was. And was having as much success at pulling his brain out of his ass as he was managing to calm his heart, which was to say, none at all. He was a few seconds away from rolling into a ball and just giving in to the panic attack that was trying to push its way out from the back of his throat when a hand on his shoulder and a calm voice pulled him back from the edge.

“Hey, hey. No, kid, it’s okay, you’re okay, just take a deep breath. Can you do that? Breathe for me?” That was Derek’s voice, and hearing it brought the whole night back into some sort of focus.

He remembered the club and Derek’s appearance. After that, he could remember some things, vaguely, flashes here and there. A fireman’s carry view of the street. The cool dashboard of a nice car against his face and threats of bodily harm if he should puke. Sliding to the floor in an elevator. None of it explained why he felt like he’d been punched in the chest, why his heart was trying to beat its way out of his ribcage. Why he couldn’t really catch his breath.

He curled up like a pill bug and groaned again. “What the everloving _fuck?_ Jesus, why can’t I _calm down?"  
_

Stiles felt Derek’s heavy hand rest between his shoulder blades and tentatively start to rub. It actually really helped and he loosened into the touch, looking up at his face with one eye. Derek looked grim. Almost apologetic, if Stiles was going to believe for a second that a Narcotics Officer was capable of apologizing.

His voice even sounded apologetic, but it had been a long time since Stiles’ days of unicorns and Easter Bunnies. “It’s the NarCleanse. Packs a punch. Sorry I had to-” he finished the sentence with a wave of a hand still holding a single-use syringe,  “But your breathing was getting shallow, and I have no idea how much the fucker gave you, let alone exactly what it was.”

His body was finally loosening up, starting at the point where Derek’s warm hand was resting between his shoulder blades and spreading outward until Stiles could finally lay in a half-sprawl and take in his surroundings. They didn’t give much away. Generic crappy couch in a cheaply-lit room. Blank walls. Cheap pressboard and plastic furniture that didn’t look new but didn’t exactly look used either. Even the kitchen, tucked behind a small counter that doubled as a table, had the distinct feeling of being empty.

He groaned past the low-level headache that had started to form and ignored the pasty way his mouth tasted like balls. “What is this, some kind of safe house?”

Stiles watched Derek’s face with fascination as it ranged through a series of emotions before it settled on vaguely flustered, running a hand through his hair as he avoided eye contact while he nearly stuttered. “No, I... I just thought... I didn’t know...” He finally just gave up and looked back at Stiles. “This is my... This is where I live, okay?”

Not his home, he couldn’t even say the word. Just where he lived. And Stiles couldn’t even begin to imagine the lines Derek had just crossed and rules he’d broken by bringing Stiles here.

Well, no, actually, he probably could, and even if he couldn’t he could probably break into his dad’s database and find out real easy, but he couldn’t even bring himself to care because, one? “You live here? That’s just... sad.”

And two? Stiles was in the man’s house. It begged the question how many other rules he might be interested in breaking. Specifically, how many rules he might be interested in breaking _with Stiles_ , which might give him a serious upper hand in dealing with these self-righteous fucks in the first place, what with his being just shy of jailbait and consent getting awfully sticky when the other party in question was holding the threat of incarceration over his head, regardless of how many of Stiles’ kinks that hit on.

And also? Honestly? The man was hot as hell. Just the kind of confident that lit a fire under Stiles’ skin. And unless there was something about augmented individuals which Stiles didn’t know about (which he highly doubted), the man had to have a bed in here somewhere.

It was enough to make him believe there was a Santa, after all.

Derek had been avoiding Stiles, cleaning up the trash and putting away the med-kit that his emergency intervention had caused, and Stiles realized he’d been somewhat wrong. The kitchen wasn’t entirely empty. It looked like at least one cupboard had been filled with the entire contents of a fucking ambulance. It brought to mind that dark look in Derek’s eyes when Stiles had talked about casualties.

It made Stiles almost feel guilty for the acts he was planning. Almost, but not quite, considering it was his own life he was fighting for, his own life that the asshole had shown no qualms about endangering when he’d punched that little bug into his head.

Stiles waited for Derek to calm himself down, waited for him to think he was ready to deal with Stiles again, and was ready when the man finally decided that things were back in order. Stiles was already close to hard by the time Derek got over his nerves and finally looked back at him. And he made sure that the heat in is eyes and the relaxed spread of his legs left little doubt about what he was thinking.

Derek’s reaction was exquisite, the way he stopped dead in his tracks, nearly dropping the glass of water he was was brining over. He took a breath that was something close to panic, chest heaving slightly, even licked his lips, a move Stiles guessed he didn’t even notice making. Stiles leaned back just a little further, let his knees drop just that much more open, drawing Derek’s gaze in with the movement.

Stiles could practically feel the way the man’s eyes roamed over his body, could picture Derek’s hands touching him with that same heat and desire to possess, tilted his head back with the feel of ghost hands on his neck, but did not break eye contact. He could see Derek swallow, something hot and desperate in it, before the man tightened his jaw and took the last few steps to the couch.

He stood at the corner of the couch, inches away, not hiding the way his own cock was fattening in his tight jeans as he handed Stiles the glass. Stiles was nearly at eye level with Derek’s crotch, so close that his mouth was already watering in anticipation when Derek shoved the cool glass of water into Stiles' outstretched hand, tipping his face up by his jaw.

There was heat, sure. And want. Stiles could tell that much. But there was also something far more substantial, something far colder that sat somewhere between anger and pain, that spoke of the kind of history which made Stiles feel every inch the kid he liked to pretend he wasn’t.

In a split second, he went from feeling like he could rule every living thing around him to feeling tiny, and it punched him so hard that it sprung tears in his eyes. He tried to pull his face away but couldn’t, hearing Derek’s soft huff and feeling a thumb brush a tear out of the corner of an eye.

He couldn’t even look up when Derek finally let him go. Didn’t move when Derek stepped away, growling “Lock the door on your way out,” before he slammed a door shut somewhere down a hall and left Stiles to his own devices.

Stiles decided that if there was a Santa after all, he was going to kick him in the balls hard enough to make him bleed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Admittedly, in a world like his, honesty was a very subjective term._

_“You WHAT?”_

That was Peter’s clenching voice.

Two words and Derek could tell that Peter was tight from jaw to sphincter. It was the kind of thing that made Derek want to punch him square in the face. He tried taking a few calming breaths. He’d been told that sort of thing helped. He still wasn’t sold on that one.

“I let him go, Peter.”

The hissed out breath and beat or two of silence was also classic Peter, and maybe the breathing thing was helping, because Derek managed not to either hang up or break the phone as he braced himself for whatever onslaught of judgmental histrionics he was about to have the pleasure of enduring. As if Peter had the right to lecture him about anything. Not that this ever, ever stopped him.

“You let him go.” Oh, and there it was, the tart little clipped note. Fabulous. “The boy essentially _threw_ himself at you in the privacy of your own home, practically begged you to tie yourself to him in a way that could have been _lasting_ and _effective_ , and you _kicked him out_.”

Derek didn’t bother to respond, just waited for _one, two, three,_ and there it was, Derek could practically _hear_ Peter pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Do I really have to remind you just how many people want to get their hands on him, Derek? How important it is that we mange to stay a step ahead of all of them? No. No, I don’t think I do, because I very distinctly remember talking to you about this more than once. And yet, here you are, the first chance you get, throwing him back out to sea.”

Derek sniffed and refrained form pinching the bridge of his own nose out of sheer stubbornness. “Not like we don’t know exactly where he is, Peter. Not like he isn’t already in our grip. He wasn’t stable. In the long run, taking advantage at that moment, if it backfired, could have caused significant damage to any trust he might be feeling. That was my call, Peter, and it was my call to make.”

Because he knew better than to ever say something as pedantic as _It felt wrong_ to Peter. Although, going by the high pitched little laugh Peter responded with, he’d heard as much regardless. And Peter’s next volley confirmed it. “Are you starting to _care_ about the boy, Derek?”

Derek was just glad Peter wasn’t there to see the way his head dropped and his ears reddened. The silence was all Peter needed for confirmation. “Fucking hell. Two days in and you’re already having _feelings_ for the kid? He’s an arrogant little twit, Derek, and your job is not to get in touch with your feelings, it’s to _cultivate_ an _asset_.” Something about the pause that Peter dropped in made Derek’s hands and feet numb, like he knew exactly what was coming next. “Do I need to remind you what happened the last time you got attach–”

Derek must have forgotten about the whole breathing thing, because his phone hit the wall and exploded into little bits and pieces before he even registered the throw. Fuck it. It was a work phone, anyway. Not like they didn’t already have a box labelled _Phone Replacement, Derek_ in their expense report. At least this way it would be at least a day until Peter could give him a new one to harass him with.

There had been times where that was a near-daily occurrence. Until finally, and Derek was pretty sure it was supposed to have been some sort of a jibe, Peter presented him with both a phone and a payed yoga tutorial. Derek took the yoga class, because he wasn’t the sort to let good money go to waste, and ended up liking it. It didn’t stop him from killing the phones, though. Nothing short of Peter not being Peter would help that.

He’d been asked before why he didn’t just put in a request for a change in partner, but flawed as he was, Peter was the only connection he had left to the only team he’d ever thought of as family. And even if it was ancient history at that point, Derek was in no way interested in cutting ties. Even if the man was an infuriating sociopath, they’d come up through the ranks together, survived the augmentation process together and survived the hell that came after.

Or, at least, pieces of them survived. He was pretty sure Peter fared better than he had in the long run, those sociopathic tendencies keeping him in good stead through the long nights, but he also pulled Derek’s head out of his ass on more than one occasion. Not that Derek would ever admit it out loud, but he liked to think that in an incredibly ironic way, Peter kept him honest.

Admittedly, in a world like his, honesty was a very subjective term.

His work portal pinged with an incoming message. No need to even guess who it was from, but Peter tended to behave when communicating through means which might be subject to scrutiny, consummate professional that he was, so Derek felt no need to fight off his curiosity. It was in the form of an attachment, Peter’s only commentary being _“Of note.”_

It was a follow-up to a Request for Information on the guy that had drugged Stiles. Derek tagged him with his phone camera before he’d cut in on the party, and apparently the guy was a heavy hitter in the county’s facial recognition system. Not a key player, but a face that popped up regularly as a member of the Hightower crew. Not a group in good standing with Deucalion, and way the hell out of his given territory, as well.

It stood to reason, didn’t take someone with Peter’s perceptiveness to know that the son of the scourge of organized crime in Beacon Hills was a high value target. Deucalion might have dragged the boy into the pool, but that didn’t mean he was going to be the only shark looking to take a bite out of him. Made him check the hand-held linked to Stiles’ tracker even more obsessively than he already had.

Kid was awake and on the move, having managed to shake the hangover from his previous night’s shenanigans, apparently headed straight for a Known location, flagged green and labelled Scott McCall. Listed as a friend from a previous school, but not a contact he had maintained in recent history.

Derek could figure he was looking at one of two things. Either the close call had the kid feeling nostalgic, or the kid was desperate. Stiles didn’t exactly strike Derek as the sentimental type. And a side note caught his eye.  McCall’s mother was a nurse. Letting out a small laugh, Derek shook his head and called up McCall’s contact info, highlighted the number and settled in, waiting for the shit to hit the fan.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _If Scott’s hunch had any kind of validity, which happened more often that anyone ever expected, everything was starting to look a hell of a lot less like he’d stumbled his way into a mess and a lot more like he’d been led like a lamb to slaughter._

Stiles woke up with a hangover that sucked both in body and in spirit. Because although parts of the night before he couldn’t really remember at all, there were certain moments he remembered with great clarity, and those left him feeling like an incredibly stupid little kid pretending to play a game he didn’t have the skill for.

Derek had been a classy motherfucker, saving him from an incredibly sketchy scene and then shooting Stiles down like he was a tween in heat. Even just thinking about it made him feel vulnerable and exposed, and because his dick was a traitorous bastard, apparently feeling like a complete idiot was now a kink.

Okay, so it wasn’t really that simple. It was more than that. It was _Derek_. The heat in his eyes. The way his hand had felt when he held him by the jaw, unmovable. The way his thumb had grazed the corner of his eye, gathering a tear like he had every right to it.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it while he stood in the shower, scalding water doing nothing to distract him. Couldn’t resist holding his own head with a heavy hand on his throat as he jacked himself tight and slick, rough enough that he came hard, jerking like a puppet and wishing there was someone there behind him, pressing him back against their chest and holding him up through the aftershocks. Instead it was just him, hanging with one arm against the shower wall, washing off the come he’d streaked on the tile and feeling satisfied but hollowed out, still hot under the collar, as if he could still feel Derek’s eyes on him.

This was not just another man Stiles could cross off some list. What Stiles was starting to realize he felt – it was strong and it scared him, felt something a little bit too much like need for Stiles to sit easy with it. And it wasn’t like there hadn’t been chemistry. It was _there_ , hot and tight between them.

Derek had _wanted_ , Stiles had no doubt about that. He had simply decided that he wasn’t going to do anything about it. And that degree of control was something that filled Stiles with a certain amount of awe and a frightening desire to drop to his knees and give himself over completely. Which also filled him with a desire to destroy Derek in any way he could think of.  After all, he’d never exactly excelled at being weak, even when he’d been a scrawny little shit. It tended to bring out the asshole in him.

The whole fucking thing left his head spinning.

It left him at loose ends. It left him at Scott’s door, hating himself for bringing Scott into it in the first place, and hating himself for the long look and awkward silence he knew he’d earned when Scott let him in. It wasn’t that their drifting apart hadn’t been mutual. After all, Scott had been growing into his own, and there had been the matter of one Allison taking up a whole hell of a lot of Scott’s time and attention, but it had been months since they had even spoken, and that was Stiles’ fault entirely.

It seemed easier, after he managed to get himself kicked out of school, after Lydia had turned Stiles down for good and all and then shoved her tongue down Scott’s throat, after he fell into an easy chemical distraction and a cop in Deucalion’s pay had popped Stiles on a buy, after the Duke himself had swooped in with a convenient lawyer-free solution and new form of employment; somewhere in the midst of all that, Scott had become something between a liability and too good to get caught up in the shit he was drowning in, and Stiles had just cut him loose.

Stiles was relived and kind-of touched when they bypassed the living room couch and went straight to Scott’s bedroom, because in some ways he thought maybe he’d earned the stuffy formality of that dusty couch that no one other than virtual strangers and Scott’s nearly nonexistent dad were ever dropped in.  He was practically choked up with the way that Scott grabbed two sodas and dropped into a bean bag in front of the gaming console like it had been any other day and not months on end of radio silence.

He handed Stiles a controller and a soda with a little twist of a smile and a slightly raised eyebrow. “I believe there was a matter of some Defcon7 payback coming your way?”

Stiles felt his own mouth tilt ruefully. “ _Seriously?_ Do you realize how much free time I’ve had recently? There’s no way in hell that’s going to happen.”

He dropped into the other other bean bag, _his_ bean bag, grabbed the controller and had exactly zero seconds to prepare before Scott started shooting at him. Two games in and he had to concede that Scott had developed some skills of his own. After the third game ended in a blaze of glory when one of them accidentally clipped a gas station and blew them both up, they called a snack break, raiding the kitchen as if they’d actually been running around a desolate landscape killing off every living thing.

In the end it was Stiles that brought it all up during the placid lull as they massacred a box of chocolate mint Adventure Girl cookies. “So... did you ever figure out who set the bomb?”

Someone had set off a stink bomb in the girls’ locker room. Unfortunately it just so happened to be right around the same time that Stiles had been planning a Prank of Ultimate Revenge on Jackson, jock asshole extraordinaire, which happened to involve most of the same ingredients that had been used to make the bomb. Some sort of “anonymous tip” had sent the authorities straight to his locker.

Apparently telling anyone who listened that he would have done things with a lot more finesse than just throwing a stink bomb into an empty locker room was no way to convince them of his innocence. And regardless of the nature of the bomb, the fact that it was a _bomb_ was a serious offense. It was the final blow to Stiles’ permanent record, and even though his academic performance had always been decent, he was asked never to set foot on school grounds again. _Ever_.

Scott shook his head with a dopey grin. “I tried man, but all that sneaky spy-stuff was your skill. I still think it was Matt, though.”

“Matt?” It made his stomach tighten.

“Yeah. Camera guy? They caught him with a gun like, a week after you left and coach found a fuckton of creepy shit in his gym locker when he finally cleaned it out. Like he’d been trying to set you up. Not that anyone cared at that point.”

The whole thing made the ground under him feel like jello, because yeah, Matt was creepy. He’d gotten to know that up close and personal, because he’d gotten to know Matt during the social-services version of daytime detention before the powers that be figured out what they were doing with the two of them. At first, he’d been a welcome distraction, the amateur version of a lockup buddy, and for a minute or two they had been kind of close.

In point of fact, Matt was also the guy who had turned him on to Amp. Taught him how to grind it and heat it properly so you could smoke it instead of having to shoot it up. Got him hooked, introduced him to his dealer and then evaporated into thin air as if he’d never fucking existed.

That same dealer who got busted with Stiles not long after that. Stiles noticed the coincidence but had just assumed that Matt had somehow felt the heat closing in and took off, and although he’d been kind of pissed at the guy for not giving him a head’s up, he hadn’t really thought much about it after that, what with honor among junkies being the non-existant thing it was.

In hindsight, though, he had to wonder. Matt had never been forthcoming about why he’d gotten thrown out, Stiles had just assumed it was the drugs. He didn’t strike Stiles as the kind of idiot that would show up to a school with metal detectors carrying a gun in his pocket. If Scott’s hunch had any kind of validity, which happened more often that anyone ever expected, everything was starting to look a hell of a lot less like he’d stumbled his way into a mess and a lot more like he’d been led like a lamb to slaughter.

It must have shown on his face, as Scott broke him out of his thought-spiral with a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Hey. Are you okay, man?”

“Uhhhh....” Stiles rubbed his face with both hands and tried to still his trembling.  Just how much did he want to get Scott into? Then again, if he’d been up front with the guy from the beginning, if he’d mentioned Matt during any of the half-hearted reconnecting they’d attempted before Stiles got busted for the drugs, he might have been able to avoid getting owned by Deucalion. Maybe he would have put two and two together and seen it coming.

Maybe he was an idiot for ever thinking that running without backup was a good idea, and, no, really, his traitorous mind could just just fuck off with the images it was flashing at Stiles, hazy memories of Derek walking towards him, fading into focus through the strobe and technicolor of the nightclub. _That_ was not the kind of friend Stiles had in mind. He wasn’t even a friend. He had no idea what the guy was. Maybe Scott could help him figure it out.

“So, ah, you remember me telling you about the drugs?” He voice was nearly squeaky. Maybe being honest took particular vocal chords. Maybe they were just completely out of practice.

Scott nodded, wide eyed. “Yeah. Shit, man, are you using? Did you get hooked again? Cuz I don’t know how I can help you with that, but–”

Stiles shook his head hard. That was _not_ the sort of peril he was ever going to put his dad’s career in again. “No, no, dude, it’s not like that. But, like, remember that job I told you I had?”

Scott bobbed his head again. “With the guy who was helping you out, who got the cop to drop the charges? Yeah. Is that going okay?”

That had been the gist of the last conversation they’d had, when Stiles told him he was going to be way too busy to hang out anymore. One of the few lies he’d told in his life which caused him actual physical pain to tell, but seemed necessary at the time. Stiles couldn’t look up anymore, playing with the crumbs that had fallen on the table, unwilling to figure out if Scott had known it was a lie all the time.

He took a deep breath and forged on. “Yeah, that guy wasn’t actually a good guy. I was running deliveries for him. Not dealing or anything, just running these backpacks back and forth. And, well, I got caught.”

Scott’s eyes widened. “Caught? _Again?_ Holy shit! So, are you going to jail or something?”

Moment of truth. But at least admitting it to Scott was a lot less likely to get him killed than anyone else he could tell. “Yeah, _again_. Only these cops were for real. They didn’t arrest me, though. They told me I had to be their informant and put a bug in me instead.”

“They... You... What?”

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. “They injected this bug in me so they could see where I was going. It’s still there.”

“So... you wanna try getting it out?”

And that smile? The one that was equal parts sly and sweet as hell, like he _wanted_ to get in trouble, like it was his life's mission to try stupid shit with Stiles? If he hadn’t known Scott all his life and didn’t think of him as a brother, Stiles would likely have been on his knees reaching for Scott’s fly the minute the words had left his mouth.

He settled for a bro hug instead.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Honestly, if he’d backed out every time he’d heard that little voice in the back of his head ask if it was a good idea, he would... Well, he’d be a different person, now, wouldn’t he?_

So, okay, Scott was working after school with the local vet. And, sure, his mom had stocked everything short of a life-support machine under the bathroom sink. Didn’t mean he didn’t have second thoughts, looking at Scott’s gloved hands, tweezers in one and scalpel in the other. Didn’t mean he was going to back out either. Honestly, if he’d backed out every time he’d heard that little voice in the back of his head ask if it was a good idea, he would... Well, he’d be a different person, now, wouldn’t he?

Scott looked like he was thinking much of the same, so Stiles gave him what he liked to think of as his rakish grin. “Just like taking a bad chip out of a dog, isn’t it? Piece of easy, my friend.”

He straddled the toilet and dropped his head on the tank before Scott caught the little _oh shit_ gleam in his eyes. Because, seriously, a little pain would be soo much better than dying from a bullet wound, and he wasn’t about to think that those Fed bastards really could do a fucking thing to keep him from dying the minute the Duke caught wind of what was going on. So he hugged the tank and told Scott to get on with it.

Stiles heard Scott heave a little breath for courage and felt a hand press around until it found the hard little bump it was looking for. “Okay, man, here goes–”

He didn’t really feel the ceramic blade touch his skin, barely felt the crisp cold of a sharp cut. That helped him feel a little more confident. Sure, it felt _achybadwrong_ when Scott leaned in and stretched the cut open a little, but only enough to make him whine just a little bit. The curious _huh_ that Scott let out fucked with him, though. That got his heart kicking up a bit.

“What? What is it, dude? Don’t go all _hhhrrrmmmm_ on me and leave me hanging, now. What, is it growing a body part or something?”

The pause before Scott responded didn’t help. But thankfully the guy got with the program after a second and Stiles didn’t have to squeal like a little girl. “No, no, it’s not a big deal. I mean, at least I don’t think so. It’s just got, this like, white stuff...”

“What, like pus? Is it all infected and shit? Oh, man, that’s disgusting – get it out, just get it out of me, come on...”

“Not like that. White stuff, like tissue. Like I’d think it was some sort of fatty tumor if I didn’t know better. I mean, seriously, it looks just like that, like it’s got strands growing out and everything–”

“Holy shit man, I am not your lab experiment! would you just get the fucking thing out–”

“Okay, okay, just _calm down_ , dude. I’m getting it, okay? Gonna spray it to numb it out, but it might sting for a second.”

It did, but it was well worth it when the warm and soft came after. He hadn’t realized how much it had started to hurt until the pain was gone. He felt his whole body loosen and gave a small grunt when Scott leaned in.

He could tell Scott was a hell of a lot more tense from the way he nearly panted “Okay, ready?”

Stiles gave a whispered _yeah_ in response. He was numbed out in general, but felt the pressure when Scott put both hands on the back of his neck, felt the tug of the cut being stretched just that much more, felt the light puff of Scott’s exhale when he leaned in with the tweezers.

He thought he felt some sort of movement, some sort of tug and pressure right before Scott said “Okay, I think I got it,” his voice sounding worlds more confident than they had a second ago. “Gonna just pull it out–”

He didn’t get any further because Stiles nearly broke his nose, his whole body slamming ramrod straight even with the toilet in the way. He’d never had a jillion bolts of electricity run through his body, but he imagined this was exactly what it felt like, every muscle jerking so tight it felt like it was near the breaking point.

It didn’t end there, though. Just as Scott’s hands tightened on his shoulders, pulling him to the ground, wave after wave of burning, searing, ripping pain started running through his body. He could feel himself convulsing with it, could feel Scott trying to keep his head from cracking into the ground, could almost hear what he was saying over the strangled noises that were gurgling out of his throat when everything went dark.

And he would have thought that it meant he’d passed out if it weren’t for the fact that there were still bolts running through him and he could still hear Scott’s panicked _shit shit shit_. But he wasn’t going to try to figure everything out quite yet. He was going to focus on the fact that those waves of pain were lessening. After a second, everything had loosened enough that he could finally find his voice again.

“Scott? You still with me?” It was a stupid question, he knew, but hopefully one that would help them both calm down.

“Shit, Stiles, yeah. You okay, man? I seriously didn’t... I mean... what the fuck just...?”

“Yeah, don’t take this the wrong way or freak out or anything, but... am I blind? ‘Cause I can’t see a fucking thing.”

Scott gasped out a little laugh. “No, dude, the power went out. Bitch of a time for that to happen, huh?”

Yeah. Stiles did not believe in coincidences. Which meant that he didn’t jump the way Scott did when the house phone started ringing. In a house that wasn’t supposed to have power. He had to hand it to them, those DEA motherfuckers had a flair for the dramatic moment.

Stiles cleared his throat when Scott didn’t move, frozen in place and likely freaked as hell. “Uh, buddy? You should probably get that.”

He could feel Scott jump in response. “Huh? Oh. Oh, yeah.”

And the half of the conversation that Stiles could hear? It would have cracked him up if he didn’t feel like he’d just been fucked with a cattle prod. But he was more than ready for it when Scott sat next to him again, finding his hand and dropping the phone in it with a confused “He wants to talk to you.”

He didn’t bother with introductions. “So, you think you can turn the power back on?”

Stiles only had to hear the half-laughed huff to know it was Derek. “Depends. Your little friend done with the surgical implements?”

Stiles had a strangled laugh of his own to give back. “Are you... Seriously, do you have any idea what just... I mean... fuck. Yes, okay? Yes, he is done, yes I get the picture, no I am not going to try that again.”

There was a pause. A somewhat longer than necessary pause before Derek answered, his voice just shy of dangerous. “You do realize that I can tell when you’re lying, don’t you? That this is what part of the augmentation does?”

Well, he’d known that in theory. He had no idea that the fucker could tell _over the phone_ , though. He swallowed before he answered. “Okay, fine, whatever. Scott is done attempting to remove the bug from my neck. He will not ever attempt to do that again. Can you hear _that_ , asshole?”

The lights came on again in response, briefly blinding both of them while Derek kept talking. “I know what I didn’t hear, Stiles, so let me make a couple things clear.” Stiles sat up with Scott’s help, but held the phone tight to his ear, pretty certain that whatever was coming was going to be pretty fucking important. “The device you’ve been implanted with is coated with a pseudo-organic nanoparticulate that, when in direct contact with matter such as blood, will generate a membrane and filaments. The membrane will act as a buffer for the device, making it virtually undetectable, even with the most modern imaging systems. The filaments behave the same way that nerve endings do, infiltrating your spinal cord so as to deliver signals to your brain. Those filaments remain inert unless they are disturbed. If they should come in contact with a foreign substance, however, they become enervated and will flood your sensory system with stimulus. You just got a taste of that stimulus.”

Stiles couldn’t even put words together, stalled out on the thought that there was this evil little machine _growing_ into his body, capable of hijacking his brain. It was like the time he watched a tick bury its head in his arm only a thousand times worse and he just wanted to run around in circles screaming _getitofffgetitoffgetitoff_ , only he couldn’t, could he? No wonder that poor fucker he’d read about in the news had gone batshit.

And Derek must have known exactly where Stiles’ mind had gone. Likely, this was from prior experience. “This is what it’s capable of and it’s only been a few _days_ Stiles. Granted, it’s not going to be growing filaments indefinitely, but by the time it’s done, those filaments will be embedded in your spine. Attempting to remove the thing will not only cause you excruciating pain, but will cause complete paralysis. Both of these effects become permanent with the removal of the device.”

Stiles really didn’t like what this was adding up to, didn’t want to hear what he was beginning to suspect was the truth. “Sure. Like you want me to think there’s no end to this, right? I mean, sooner or later you’re going to have to take the thing out yourselves.”

He really, really didn’t like the dramatic pause. Liked the apology in the fucker’s voice even less. “It’s not designed to be removed, Stiles. When we’re done tracking you we just deactivate the account. If you try to take it out, you’ll end up either dead or a vegetable. That’s it.”

He didn’t even notice the tears that had started to track down his face until he’d reached up to wipe his nose. “ _That’s it?_ Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? I’m going to die, Derek. Sooner or later, Duke’s gonna figure this out and then he’s going to _kill me_ , and the only choice I have is to let this happen or to turn myself into a vegetable. You don’t... You fucking... You don’t even–”

“No. Listen to me Stiles. Listen carefully. I know where you are. I know where you are every second of every day. I’m watching you, I'm watching _over_ you, and I’m not going to let _anything_ happen to you, you understand me? That’s the whole point of this, Stiles. I’m here to keep you safe. That’s my job. While the account is active, that’s my _only_ job. I’m not going to let him kill you. I’m not going to let _anyone_ get their hands on you, understand?”

And, oh, Stiles wanted to. Sincerely wanted to believe that this man could do all the things he was promising. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? “Yeah, Derek, sure. So tell me something, even with those augmented sense of yours, can you tell when someone’s lying to themselves? Because when I end up dead, the worst you’ll be is sorry that you were wrong. Me, on the other hand? I’ll be too fucking dead to say I told you so.”

  
He hung up but didn’t throw the phone, remembering at the last second that it wasn’t his. Scott didn’t say much after that, just cleaned up the blood that had dripped down Stiles’ back, sealed the wound shut and bandaged him up, patting him on the back when he was done.

But he did speak up when he walked Stiles to his door, standing next him on the front stoop. “Just. Look, I get that things are pretty fucked. I’m guessing that’s why you fucked off in the first place. And that’s okay, I guess? But kind of not. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is... don’t? Let me be there, okay? Please, let me be there for you, bro.”

Stiles nodded, hugging Scott hard when he leaned in. He thought maybe it was a bad idea, and he was scared as hell that maybe this could go bad in so many different ways, and that Scott could end up getting hurt for it. But he was right there. He wanted to be there. And Stiles? Finally felt like he could breathe again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was like he could feel the man, like the cut on his neck was the weight of his thumb, pressing in, owning him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, Stiles is getting tossed in the deep end on this one.  
> Warnings for: mild coercion, public sex, possessive behavior and hints of D/s relationship. See end notes for clarification. I tried not to make the explanation too spoiler-y.

Stiles knew he should figure out a way to let it go, knew it wasn’t healthy, but he couldn’t stop thinking of the way that Derek’s voice had sounded, so clear and close up, as if he’d been whispering into his ear instead of talking over the phone.

_I know where you are. I know where you are every second of every day. I’m watching you..._

It was like he could feel the man, like the cut on his neck was the weight of his thumb, pressing in, _owning_ him. He spent the better part of the day trying _not_ to think about it and failing miserably. Which meant, his traitorous body being the traitor it was, that he also spent the better part of the day at least half-hard and frustrated.

In some ways, it might have been a bit of a blessing, like when he was dealing with the Duke’s lackeys. He was expected to make one of his regular deliveries to one of the Duke’s closest associates and there was no way he could skip out without it looking suspicious, so he forced himself to go, his heart in his throat the whole way there, Derek’s voice haunting him the entire time.

By the time he got to the pickup point he’d been so agitated over hiding his inappropriate paranoia and oh-fuck-I’m-gonna-die boner that he didn’t have enough braincells to spare to freak out about the tell-tale cut on his neck, which nobody noticed since he wasn’t reflexively rubbing at it. He was pretty sure at least one of those semi-enhanced body guards of the Duke’s had picked up on a thing or two, but from the smirk on the man’s face he’d lumped the elevated heart rate in with his state of arousal and wrapped it all in the ‘teenaged hormone’ package that he figured Stiles represented.

In the end, Stiles was led out the door with his package and little more than a referral to a whore who was particularly fond of virgin boys. It didn’t bug him as much as it might have at one point. He didn’t even have to fight down the urge to let the man know he’d be glad to prove exactly how much a virgin he wasn’t. Funny how being teased mattered so much less when getting shot in the back of the head was an alternative scenario.

But he was strung out by the time he made the drop, too fucked in the head to find it in him to worry and far past any ability to make smart choices when Kali practically insisted he blow off some steam in her club. He must have reeked of desperate teenager by then, if the lecherous grin she gave him was any indication. Stiles wasn’t even sure if she was enhanced. It was quite possible that his level of desperation was just that obvious.

And hell, he _should_ be desperate, considering the way he’d been cockblocked the night before. The more he thought about it, the more he thought maybe his entire tension level would ease if he could just find someone to fuck it out with. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea, really.

He’d actually spent a little time in that club, even if he’d never visited it on his own. It was one of the Duke’s favorite spots, and there were times when Stiles had been conscripted into being a part of his entourage. He’d even enjoyed himself a time or two, even while he kept his wits about him, meticulous in not giving the man anything he could hold over Stiles’ head the day after. If nothing else, they had good music.

He was out past the back rooms and into the main floor before he gave himself a chance to have second thoughts about it. He’d downed a beer and was losing himself on the dance floor in no time, not even caring about the prospects for the evening, just letting the beat and the heat of bodies around him white out all the noises in his head.

It didn’t take long before the flirty glances and light touches started. Didn’t take long at all before he was being held with a bit more intent, before a lovely waif of a girl was pressing him back against a guy at his back and they were both murmuring their appreciation, and he was lost to it all, as if he’d had more than that solitary beer, as if their attention was all the drug he needed.

He was pulled sideways and they drifted off, and Stiles would have been pissed as hell about it if it weren’t for the self-assured hands that landed on his hips and the hard body that pressed up against his back with the kind of insistence that made him weak in the knees. He was so keyed up that he could only groan when he recognized the voice in his ear.

“Just not going to stop making bad decisions, are you?”

Stiles snorted, having lost the fight in him by the time he’d made his delivery. He reached back and wrapped his hands around Derek’s neck as if things were actually going to go anywhere. To his surprise, Derek didn’t pull away, but brought his face in deeper into Stiles’ neck and let his hands ghost under Stiles' T-shirt, running softly up and down his ribs.

He had to work to keep a whimper out of his voice. “Right. Like there’s any way possible your coming here to get me was a good decision. Fuck, Derek. Can’t you just let me have a little fun?”

Stiles was expecting to get dragged out at any moment, figured that the up-close-and-personal act was going to last exactly as long as it took for him to start walking towards the door, but Derek pulled him in closer when Stiles started pulling away, wrapping one hand around his waist and sliding another up to graze his chest.

He opened his mouth to ask Derek what the fuck he was doing , but the bastard picked just that moment to pinch and worry one of his nipples, and any words Stiles might have been forming turned into a high-pitched warble as his back bowed into the grip and his ass pressed hard against what was clearly a very interested cock.

Derek’s voice was quiet, but with the way his lips were grazing against the shell of his ear he could hear it clearly. “Don’t be an idiot, kid. You think they can’t hear you? You think they aren’t listening?” As if to emphasize his point, he pitched his voice louder, leaned in while he talked so that Stiles could feel the breath on his cheek, feel his lips moving in a way they hadn’t been a second ago. “I’m gonna fuck you so well that I’m going to make you cry, you little bastard. And then I’m going to make you come so hard you’ll never, ever think of stepping out on me again.”

And while Stiles struggled just to remember how to breathe, Derek faced them both towards a man who seemed intent on them. Stiles thought he might have recognized the guy from one of many back room dealings around the town, but he couldn’t be sure. He felt Derek’s fingers on his jaw pointing him straight in the guy’s direction.

“He some of your _fun_ , Stiles? Did you fuck him? That why he’s staring at you like that?”

Stiles had to work hard at getting his brain to reboot because Derek’s hands hadn’t stopped moving, gripping, dragging and scratching in the most amazing ways. He could hardly catch his breath, but was trying his best to track what Derek was telling him.

“Huh? Him? I have no idea who that is or why he’s looking, okay?” That seemed to be enough of an answer for him.

But then Derek did it again, a number of times, pointing people out until they started to fade into the background, looking around almost sheepishly, like they’d been caught out. It didn’t escape Stiles' notice that one of those people had been the girl that had been pressed up against him, and when Stiles admitted to the dancing, Derek reacted the way a lover might, interrogating him with a soft, languorous voice until he was sure nothing had happened.

By the time Derek was pushing him into a booth and dropping down nearly in his lap, Stiles thought maybe he’d figured out a thing or two. None of those people should have been able to hear what Derek had been saying. Some had remained oblivious, and maybe those had been decoys, but the ones who seemed particularly intent on them? They tried not to let it show, but it was clear that they had been listening. The woman he’d been dancing with had definitely not been a decoy, which meant that either she had an earpiece of some sort or was actually augmented.

Either way, it meant she wasn’t just some girl looking to hook up. And Stiles had no doubt that he would have left the building with her if Derek hadn’t shown up. There was no way that any of these people worked for anyone other than Kali, so by extension Deucalion. But what the fuck they were doing, why they were treating Stiles like he was worthy of their attention, he had no clue. It wasn’t about the bug, they wouldn’t tail him for that. If there was even a suspicion, they’d just kill him.

He couldn’t help but think of Matt, who had handed Stiles over to Deucalion’s cop on a fucking silver platter. The implications of it, of Stiles being way deeper in than he ever suspected were starting to sink in and he could feel the blood rushing out of his face, could feel himself close to throwing up when Derek’s grip on his chin snapped him back into the moment.

Derek, on the other hand, was still entirely in the moment, “Hey, hey. It’s okay. I get it. You got pissed off and wanted to have some fun, but nothing happened, right? So It’s okay. I’m not mad at you, baby. Don’t worry.”

Stiles tried to pull himself together, taking a breath to get his bearings and tried to drop himself into the role Derek had set up for him. “You sure?”

He tried for sincere, let his anxieties pretend to this reason. Thankfully, he had a passive role to play. Thankfully, Derek made him desperate to play along as he ran a hand along Stiles' thigh, pulling it up so that it hooked over one of Derek’s legs, then slid up to cup his dick as someone slipped into a chair opposite them at the table.

This visit must have been the reason why they hadn’t just walked out, and Stiles hoped that the way Derek was kneading him, squeezing and then releasing all along his length wasn’t as obvious as it was mind-blowingly distracting. He tried to sit up and look more attentive, but Derek was having none of it, pinning Stiles against the booth with arm and shoulder in such a way that he placed himself clearly between Stiles and their company.

He couldn’t quite see it in his periphery, but he could hear the upraised brow in Derek’s voice. “Help you with something?”

It was someone Stiles had seen before, a trusted lieutenant in Kali’s group, and he’d always struck Stiles as someone not easily phased. He didn’t seem phased by what was going on in that moment, either, casually lifting and dropping a shoulder as he looked more at Stiles than Derek.

“Just checking up on the kid, here. Making sure everything was fine.  You okay, Stiles?”

Never in all the time that he had known any of these people, had anyone ever asked him that question. And even if, in real life, Stiles had been loosing his mind to some guy playing daddy games, this fucker inquiring after Stiles’ well being would have raised every warning flag he had.

So he played it that way, clearly and deliberately lifting Derek’s hand off his crotch and holding it in his own as he placed it on the table and leaned forward. “ _Checking up on me?_    What the fuck is that about? I mean, I appreciate the look out and all, but since when did you assholes get _sentimental_?”

That pulled half a smirk out of the guy who had the grace to at least look slightly sheepish. “Hey, _I_ figured you didn’t need help, kid. I even tried to tell them that. But I guess your friend here’s making a few people nervous.”

Derek raised both eyebrows and grinned carnivorously. “Yeah, well, maybe if _a few people_ stopped staring at him like they wanted to bend him over the bar, I wouldn’t be making anyone nervous, would I?”

Stiles didn’t bother to fight down the shit eating grin that came with watching the guy _almost_ apologize. But he wasn’t ready for the fire in Derek’s eyes when the guy left. He’d been expecting Derek to drag Stiles out after that in a fit of righteous indignation. He’d been ready to get up and go along with it. He hadn’t been in any way ready for it when Derek slipped his hand back up Stiles’ thigh with his own little smirk.

“There’s no way they’re gonna ask us to leave now.”

Stiles had no idea what to do, didn’t really know if there was anything he would have been able to do, just sat back and watched in awe as Derek boxed him in, snapped open Stiles' pants and spit in his own hand.

Derek’s grip was tight and certain, jacking Stiles hard and fast enough that he couldn’t hold back little gasps and cries, couldn’t keep himself from leaning his forehead on Derek’s shoulder, hands gripping Derek’s arms as he watched his dick slide in and out of Derek’s fist until he came with a gut-punched groan and shudder. Derek made Stiles lick his hand clean, gaze so hot and possessive that Stiles knew it was way more than just an act.

And he could hear those words, hot and bright in his mind as Derek leaned in and placed a kiss on Stiles’ temple. _I know where you are every second of every day... I’m not going to let anyone get their hands on you.._.

Derek finally walked Stiles out of the club and to his car after that, hand on the back of his neck, thumb pressed firm on that little cut like he knew exactly what it did to Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Synopsis for warning purposes: Stiles wants Derek, certainly, but things escalate in a public fashion without his request for consent and he is overwhelmed by the pace that Derek sets, while Derek's actions are borne of a necessity which lays beyond the scope of simple sexual satisfaction for either of them, so the question of consent is muddled for both men. Derek behaves in a possessive and dominant fashion which may have nothing to do with who he is, but may be dictated by the role Derek opts to play while they are under the scrutiny of people who would kill them if they knew of Stiles and Derek's actual relationship.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He was both terrified and turned on in equal measure, which was to say completely overwhelmed by both states._

Stiles vaguely remembered sitting in that car before. He was considerably more in charge of his faculties this time, although his head and his dick were spinning in such different directions that he couldn’t exactly think of himself as sober. He was both terrified and turned on in equal measure, which was to say completely overwhelmed by both states.

There was something to be said for the adrenaline, though. It was keeping his braincells firing fast enough that he was on his game. At least, on his game enough not to shoot off his mouth as they sat in the car, apparently not quite ready to drive off yet.

There had to be a reason they hadn’t moved out of everyone’s range, he wasn’t about to kid himself into thinking that Derek was having some emotional crisis that was making it hard for him to get the car out of park. Not that he had a clue what they were waiting for, but he thought maybe he figured out a way to ask without being too obvious about it.

“Soo, hypothetically speaking. If you were to fuck me raw in your back seat and I screamed like a little girl, would anyone come to see what the fuss was about?”

Derek’s little grin spoke volumes. “The car’s soundproof, so no one would hear you. But they could watch, if they wanted to. They could see everything. They could watch you begging. They could read your lips and know just how wrecked you were for my cock. Think I’d like to fuck you somewhere a little less cramped, though.”

So, that answered his question. Couldn’t hear them, but if they could see their lips moving they could see what they were saying, and Derek wasn’t putting it past whoever might be watching to be able to read lips. And they weren’t going to fuck in the car. Stiles was actually kind of relieved about that. He’d had cramped car sex. It was never quite as hot as it seemed in the first place.

But. It sounded like sex _was_ on the table at some point in the future, although given the way Derek had shot him down before, the whole turnaround was giving him a little whiplash. He wasn’t exactly certain how he felt about the whole implication that the most devastating sexual experience he’d ever had occurred out of a necessity to survive. And he really didn’t want to think about what it said about him that he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Like, right that moment, in that very car, in fact. After all, Derek was still sporting a raging hard-on. Maybe that was what he’d been waiting for the whole time they’d been sitting there. After all, reciprocation was important, wasn’t it?

Only, it didn’t seem like it was because Derek pinned his wrist to the side the minute he started for his fly. But the way he pinned his hand down kept Stiles leaning in towards Derek and the man brought his face in close, running his nose along Stiles’ face like he was sniffing.

His voice sounded loud in the car, steady but tight. “Sorry. I thought you could handle it.”

Stiles scoffed for a second with narrowed eyes when Derek let go and Stiles leaned back into his seat. “Hey, I was trying to, dude,” waving the hand Derek had just freed.

But Derek was having none of that, leaning in even closer and bringing his hand up to Stiles’ lips, tapping each finger on his bottom lip before resting them there. One, two, three, four. “Four.” He said with a certain kind of finality before slipping them into Stiles’ mouth and running his nose over Stiles’ hairline, lips hardly moving as he kept talking, fingers stroking in and out, heedless of the way they stretched Stiles’ mouth or the way spit was dribbling out. “I counted four agents on you Stiles. They were on you before I was even there. You figure that’s a normal pattern of behavior, kid?”

He leaned his face back a bit, enough that he could take in Stiles’ minute shake of his head, enough that Stiles could see that heat in his eyes again, like he was fucking _feeding_ off the way Stiles’ head was tilted back, throat bared and mouth straining to accommodate the spread of Derek’s whole hand practically _making love_ to his goddamn mouth.

And the bitch of it was that as much as Derek might have been trying to have some sort of cloak-and-dagger serious conversation, Stiles was nearly whining with how hot the whole thing was getting him, already hard like he hadn’t come in a month, his whole body tense and straining with the desire to arch, to writhe, to spread open and fucking _beg_ even while the smartass in his brain wanted to tell the fucker exactly what he knew about _patterns_ and _behavior_.

Mind numbing sex moves aside, though, he had a point. Stiles had clearly tipped the Duke off. The minute he felt his eyes focus on Derek with that thought, Derek slid his fingers away and tugged him down into a sprawl, face first into the tight space between Derek’s thighs and the steering wheel. But when Stiles went for his zipper, he grabbed that wrist too, clucking his tongue. “Uh, uh. No hands. Use your mouth.”

And _really?_ Seriously? If there was maybe a square inch for him to maneuver in, maybe he could be down with that plan, but with the back of his head already pressing against the steering wheel, he couldn’t keep from snorting. “Shit, Derek, you can’t be serious.”

Derek turned his face upwards for a second, running a thumb over his already achy lower lip. “Just a shame it’s too dark down there for me to see your mouth doing all that work.”

Oh. _Oh._ Guess it did give him a little time to be facing downward without having to be visibly choking on a cock, didn’t it? He liked Derek’s options better, though. He wanted to ask how come he didn’t get to be the one trailing kisses on the man’s neck instead of struggling with a zipper, but he figured it wasn’t exactly the best time and place to bicker.

So Stiles pulled the snap loose with his teeth and tucked his head down for a minute or two, rubbing his cheek against the hot bulge of Derek’s trapped cock and pretending it wasn’t exactly what he wanted to be doing. Tried to make coherent words while he was at it.

“I don’t know what’s going on. It’s not normal. It’s not normal _at all_ , like these guys usually just kill anything that makes them nervous, so I don’t know what I did and I don’t know why they haven’t just killed me.” The words came with a punch, and he could feel his chest tighten with hard breaths even while he managed to get the zipper halfway down before it just stuck, and something in the frustration and the sex and the pressure all around him just welled up until he was nearly crying, looking at Derek’s half trapped cock, mouth watering even while panic was starting to set in and all he could managed was a half-choked, “I can’t... I don’t... I just don’t know what to do, I–”

But One of Derek’s hands cupped his chin, stopping his words cold as he lowered the zipper with his other hand and shushed Stiles, thumb grazing along the curve of his cheek, picking up a tear like it had before. Stiles couldn’t really see his face, could just hear his voice, words soft, murmuring, “Hey, it’s okay, don’t worry, I’ve got you. I’m gonna take care of you.”

Stiles couldn’t make out what else Derek said, everything just turned into soft noises as Derek turned his face right where he wanted it and fed his cock into Stiles’ mouth. Everything else faded completely after that, while Derek held his face still and fucked up into him, and all of Stiles’ world faded into the heat and heft of Derek’s cock sliding over his tongue, stretching his lips and hitting the back of his throat until he came, hot and hard, holding Stiles there, keeping him still until he’d swallowed every last drop.

He expected he’d be in pain when he was released, that his back and neck would be screaming at him to jump out of the car and bend himself over backward, only he wasn’t. It felt like every single muscle in his body had loosened. He felt warm and flushed and boneless as he slouched back into the leather seat, leaning into Derek’s touch when the man put his hand on Stiles’ cheek, thumbing a drop of come out of the corner of Stiles’ lips and feeding it back into his mouth.

He’d even forgotten how hard he was, hadn’t even thought about it until he had to buckle his seatbelt. But it was funny, even though he felt tight and trapped in his jeans, even though the seatbelt’s pressure was delicious, he had no sense of urgency. Derek must have been able to read some of that. As he started the car, he reached down and squeezed lightly, without any real intent, but with a wicked grin on is lips.

“Fuck, kid. This is a good look on you. If I could keep you forever like this, I’d be a happy man.”

It shouldn’t have made him feel flushed and shivery. It shouldn’t have filled him with a burning desire to give Derek just that, to be everything Derek wanted, to be hard and ready to be used at Derek’s whim. It shouldn’t have, but Stiles couldn’t even find it in himself to wish he felt any other way.

Even while that far more sober voice in the back his head reminded him of just exactly who Derek was and how likely it was that every single thing that had just happened meant next to nothing to him.

He was still hard by the time Derek parked the car, and it was _stupid_ , he knew it was completely stupid, given how fucked up everything had gotten, but when Derek reached over and stroked him with a heated growl before he got out of the car Stiles was _grateful_ and as eager as a puppy dog as he followed Derek into his apartment.

He was going to think about it later. He was going to give himself a nice, long, serious speech about what an idiot he was for playing right into the man’s hands when he told Stiles he’d take care of him, when Stiles pretended it meant more than it could possibly ever mean. He would. Just not tonight.

He was giving himself over to those capable hands tonight. At least until the sun came up and handed him his consequences.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _To say that the steps he was taking were morally questionable was a given. Peter would approve._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are going down the rabbit hole on this one, kids. Not much in terms of action, but Derek is about to make his intent clear, and it isn't necessarily pretty, or, given the position these two are in, healthy.

Derek was quiet as he led Stiles into his apartment, thinking fast and hard while at the same time trying not to think at all, trying to let the predator he’d let himself become stay sharp and in the fore, because the night wasn’t over, not by a long shot, and even though he knew he was going to give Stiles his out, he was pretty damned certain Stiles was going to have none of it.

To say that the steps he was taking were morally questionable was a given. Peter would approve. This was never a justification for any action. In fact, Peter _not_ approving tended to be more of a justification in Derek’s book. But he would approve and even if, on paper, when put in precise terms, the home office would balk, in practice they would back his current choices without the bat of an eyelash.

There were terms, after all, couched professional terms that had been chosen just for this sort of scenario, that when used in reports told those who were in the know much more than enough and those who were outside observers next to nothing. Not even Stiles’ father, if he should some day manage to get his hands on this case, would have a clue what was going to transpire between Derek and his son.

If Stiles agreed to it. There was that. It surprised Derek a bit to realize that there was still a part of him that hoped Stiles would opt out. Even if it would make their chances of surviving much more slim, what they would be doing if they stayed... It could fuck with the kid. In ways that could take him a long time to recover from. If he did recover. Lord knows, Derek hadn’t.

Not that what he was doing with Stiles was on par, in any way, with what Kate did to him, but it could still leave scars that would look and feel too much like the ones he carried for Derek to rest easy with it. And there was this other part of it all, the part that really scared him, the part that _wanted_ to see what that need and hunger and broken looked like in someone else, the part that wanted to know he’d been the one to cause it, his nerve endings alive with the sense-memory and his mind on fire with the power of it all.

He backed away from that edge. Deliberately forced himself to stand back and keep his hands to himself, watching Stiles settle down on the chair Derek had pulled out from the kitchen nook. It wasn’t comfortable, and it wasn’t meant to be. Derek leaned back against the flimsy counter, one leg crossed over the other, arms crossed, as if he couldn’t be more obvious about holding himself in, holding himself back.

Stiles didn’t seem to mind, though, in this diffuse state of arousal he was in. He was more calm than Derek had ever known him to be. And he knew how that felt, too, the near-sedated mind-set of not having to think, or need, or act. It made his mouth water, made him so hungry. Stiles was so beautiful, so open, so ready. He clenched his fists until he felt his hands stop shaking, until he felt the kick of his spiked adrenaline settle down, until he felt like something close to human again. He had to do this right, and yet he had no idea what right was. So he did what felt natural to him instead of what seemed obvious, and kneeled between the kid’s outstretched legs, resting his arms on Stile’s knees and looking up into the kid’s startled eyes.

“Hey. I need you paying attention right now. Can you do that?”

Stiles nodded, eyes wide and alert like they hadn’t been a few seconds ago, so Derek dove in. “We can talk here, the place is shielded. From now on I want you to assume that no other place is. You caught their attention kid. I’m not sure why or what you did, but you have to assume that if they reacted this fast then they likely have eyes and ears on every place you frequent by now.”

Stiles had started shaking his head, mouth half-open midway through, but it wasn’t denial, more like bafflement. “But... I don’t get it. _Why?_ Why me? I’m nobody, I’m just some kid...”

And Derek watched him process it, didn’t spell it out but watched Stiles start to put pieces together all by himself. “Is it ‘cause of my dad?”

He pinned Derek with a look and Derek gave him half a shrug, already moving back to his post with his back to the counter. But instead of the anxious acceptance he was expecting, Stiles shook his head again, even harder. “No. No, it’s not. I mean, the Duke’s got the Chief of Police in his pocket. He’s got a _senator_ on his payroll, for fuck’s sake. He’s got no reason to see my dad as a threat. And even if he did, he wouldn’t waste his time dicking around with me in order to get to him, he’d just get someone to beat me up and then threaten my dad with more.”

A senator? Derek could bet money on who _that_ was. After all, the Argents always did like getting dirty. But he didn’t like the questions Stiles was bringing up, didn’t like the way that they sounded a lot like the questions he’d been asking himself lately. Questions no one seemed interested in entertaining, Peter in particular cutting him short, pointing out that trying to figure that shit out was more of a distraction than a help. Which, well... case in point.

“Doubt any of that will matter much if you’re lying on the ground bleeding out. We have a few more pressing issues to work out, Stiles.”

And there was the spark that Stiles had been hiding, the bright-eyed little swagger that presented Derek with more of a target than the blissed-out half awake act ever would. Derek set his sights but held back, letting Stiles get himself warmed up for a second or two.

“Uh... Doesn’t _matter_? How about if we know why then we–”

His tone was cold and sharp when he cut in. “Not going to figure it out in one night, regardless, Stiles, and that’s all the time we’re going to get before they close in.”

It took the wind out of his sails, but didn’t strip him of his fight, as he sat back against the chair, sprawling out in that long-legged way of his, raising his eyebrows in question. “So what is it, exactly, we should be doing with that time?”

And there was the invitation that Stiles didn’t even realize he was making, even as he was holding the door open for Derek to step inside. But Derek didn’t take him up on it. Not quite yet.

“We have a couple choices. We could run. I could set you up with witness protection. It would just take a single call, and you’d be miles away before sunrise.”

But Stiles was shaking his head adamantly at that. Just like Derek knew he would. “Nu-uh. No. Nope, no way. You must not know the Duke like I do, ‘cause if you did, you wouldn’t even think that was an option.”

That was close to the truth, but not entirely. “Not if you don’t stop moving, Stiles. If you think you’re going to settle down somewhere, then, yeah, but if you take the money they give you and don’t stop running–” But Stiles wasn’t having it.

“That’s not a life. I mean, I don’t have much of one as it is, but that’s not any kind of a life. And besides, I can’t do that to my dad, I can’t leave him behind. So get on with whatever’s behind curtain number two, Derek. I’m in. If you think there’s a chance I can fake it past a bunch of human lie detectors, I’m all ears.”

Derek wished, for his own peace of mind and what little was left of his conscience, that everything in him didn’t just snap to technicolor clarity. He wished the blood hadn’t already started singing in his veins and his heart wasn’t beating hard but steady. He wished he could say he wasn’t pleased.

But all of it would have been a lie.

And Stiles must have seen something behind Derek’s eyes, because his heart started beating in a near panic at the same moment that the smell of arousal hit Derek so hard that the kid must have been sweating it out of his pores. But Derek was going to spell it out. In theory, because it would give Stiles one last chance to blink, but really, it was because he wanted to watch how much he could do to Stiles with nothing but words. The kid had always thought that words were the safest place for him to hide. Derek was going to teach him just how far from the truth that was.

“You’re not going to fake a thing, Stiles. He’s going to drag you in and you are going to answer every single one of his questions, and you are going to be capable of thinking of nothing but me. The sound of my voice, slipping in your ear. The way I taste, and how you can still taste me even while you’re speaking. The feel of my hands. On you. _In_ you. The way you can still feel them, even when I’m miles away. The way you gave yourself to me. The way you _begged_ for me to use you. You’ll be wearing my mark, Stiles. Dripping with my come.

“And they’ll know, they’ll be able to see all of it, _smell_ me on you and it will _kill_ you, what they’re going to think of you. But you’re not going to be able to stop yourself from getting hard when one of them calls you my bitch, Stiles. I’m going to take you apart and put you back together and you aren’t going to be able to recognize what you’ve become when I’m done.” He gave it a breath or two. Let Stiles _try_ to catch his, flush high on his face and mouth half open but incapable of looking him in the eye any more. “Or you can run, Stiles. You can run and I’ll be there, one step behind you until either they kill me or they give up looking.”

Those words caught him by surprise, even as they slipped past his lips, but he meant every bit of it. Even if he refused that night, whether now or a month from now, if Stiles ran, Derek was going to be right there with him, every goddamned step of the way. No amount of Peter’s derision was capable of making him deny the _feelings_ he’d developed for this kid, because those feelings were becoming glaringly clear. Stiles had been right. It _was_ Derek’s fault that Stiles had crosshairs over his heart, it was his fault that the kid was going to have to go through an abundance of drastic life-changing shit just to stay a step ahead of a bullet, and if he blinked? If Stiles tripped up in any way and ended up dead? That would be Derek’s fault as well.

And if it meant taking the bullet instead? Derek was perfectly willing to face that possibility as well.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It made him feel incredibly shy, like the man had somehow already stripped him bare from the inside out and Stiles had never felt so exposed, even though he hadn’t lost a strip of clothing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, uh, are you guys ready to get _dirty_?

Wasn’t. Going. To. Fucking. Run.

Much as it warmed his heart in a small private way he wouldn’t admit to, hearing Derek say he had Stiles’ back. Derek could say what he liked about it, but Stiles _knew_ Deucalion had no respect for any sort of witness protection program, and with good reason. If he wanted to find a guy, that guy would get found. He’d seen it on more than one occasion.

And all of that? Everything he was going over and over in his brain like a mantra? That was all just a desperate attempt on Stiles’ part to distract himself from the _holyshitohfuck_ mind-crushing weight of Derek’s gaze, of everything else he had just said. Sure, Stiles liked guys with strong hands and strong personalities, but that was nothing like...

It sounded like Derek wanted to _own_ him, in ways that he didn’t even entirely understand, and it terrified Stiles more than it turned him on. An occurrence which, in and of itself, was incredibly rare. But then again, if he thought about what the man had said, he’d already been walking around half-hard from little more than extrapolated innuendo and Derek’s hot-as-hell... _Derek-ness_. So maybe this whole thing had started long before they walked into the room. Had Derek _seen_ this coming? How long had he been preparing for this moment?

It was a question that maybe he didn’t want to consider at the moment. After all, he was running out of options and whatever the man’s agenda _was_ , he was the only one offering Stiles any chance of survival. That thought settled him a little. Made it possible for Stiles to look him in the eye again. He’d been leaning, unnaturally still, waiting for Stiles to make up his mind, but he wasn’t hiding that banked heat in his eyes, wasn’t hiding the implied threat in everything about him.

“Are you going to hurt me?” And _why_ that had to be the first question that came to mind, and why he had to sound like a vulnerable woodland creature when he asked, he would never know.

Derek’s answer didn’t help any, as he nodded slowly with what was almost a smile. “Maybe. It could help. But I’m not going to _injure_ you. There’s a difference. And I’m going to make sure you like it, Stiles. I’m going to make damned sure of that.”

Stiles ducked his head at the full body blush the throaty pitch of Derek’s voice was bringing up, jumped a little when Derek _finally_ moved, coming in close to stand over him, a strange parody of where they had been a few nights ago, Derek hard and full in his pants, inches from Stiles’ face.

Only this time it made him feel incredibly shy, like the man had somehow already stripped him bare from the inside out and Stiles had never felt so exposed, even though he hadn’t lost a strip of clothing. Derek handed Stiles his phone, _and when did he get his hands on Stiles’ phone in the first place?_ Must be the man had skills he hadn’t let on about.

“Call your dad. Tell him you’re going to a sleepover.”

_“A sleepover?”_

“Whatever. Just make up some excuse that puts you out of reach. And take the battery out of the phone when you’re done, so Duke will have to have someone call your dad if he’s trying to find you.”

“A sleepover. Seriously. Do you think anyone will buy that? I mean, I guess I could get Scott to cover, but Derek, what makes you think Deucalion’s gonna believe it for a second?”

But Derek’s only response was to raise a single eyebrow and cross his arms until Stiles made his calls. By the time he was done, Derek had started trailing his thumb under Stiles’ lip, like he just couldn’t help himself. “Duke doesn’t need to believe it. He just needs to know you’re out of reach and making up excuses for it. He’ll figure you’re here with me. By now he probably already knows who I am.”

Stiles had to pull away from Derek’s hand at that. “Wait. What, for real?”

Derek shrugged a little, gripping the back of Stiles’ neck and pulling him forward once again, tucking his thumb at the edge of Stiles’ mouth, pressing in like he just wanted to make sure Stiles could _feel_ it. “He’s going to _think_ he knows.” He let his thumb slip slowly into Stiles’ mouth, stretching out the corner of it and slipping between his teeth. “The first thing he’s going to say when he brings me up is _he’s a cop, Stiles_. And the next thing you’re going to say, without batting an eyelash or breaking a sweat, is _he used to be_.”

_Used to be_. Derek made him practice it, over and over. _He’s a cop, Stiles_ , as he pulled Stiles to standing and kicked the chair away, and _used to be_ earned him Derek’s touch, warm strong hands running up his chest and pulling off his shirt as they went. _He’s a cop_ , whispered right into his ear as Derek stood behind him, and _used to be_ earned him hands on his buckle, belt and zipper taken care of with surgical precision, cold air hitting his slightly damp shorts when the pants slipped open.

_He’s a cop, Stiles_ , as Derek pressed his chest against Stiles’ back, hands on Stiles’ hips, and _used to be_ earned him his pants and underwear pooling neatly on the floor in one movement. _He’s a cop_ , as one hand slid down to cup his balls and another slid into the crack of his ass, and a nearly forgotten gasped-out _used to be_ had a hand lightly kneading his balls while the other pressed spit-slick circles against his rim.

Stiles wanted to writhe and moan, wanted to shove his ass out and grab his ankles with the way Derek was fondling him, all soft touches but overwhelming sensation, but Derek wasn’t letting him move, trapping him between his body and the hand that circled the base of his cock, fingers still rubbing softly over his balls, so all he could do was open his stance just a little wider, canting forward on his toes as Derek’s finger _almost_ but not quite pushed into him. It was obscene, the way he could feel himself clenching and unclenching, as if he was trying to pull the finger in, and he couldn’t hold in his needy whimper.

“Holy fuck, Derek, _please_.”

But all Derek said was _he’s a cop, Stiles_ , and Stiles ground out _used to be_ , trying not to make it sound like a plea. Derek finally breached, him, running circles on the inside of his rim before sliding deeper. The words came faster after that, like a mantra while Derek fucked Stiles on one finger with merciless precision, until he was nearly sobbing, both hands gripping tight to the arm Derek had wrapped around his shoulders, his cock completely forgotten but hard and dripping on to the cheap formica floor below them.

The final _used to be_ sounded like an afterthought, like finishing the lines to a song he’d heard a hundred times on the radio. Derek stilled after that, wrapped Stiles in his arms and whispered, deep and resonant, _good boy_ , and Stiles could feel it, deeper than anything, feel it sliding into his bones like it belonged there and it left him weightless.

He let himself become this fluid thing, let himself answer to Derek and his body and nothing else, feeling shameless as he rubbed back against Derek’s still-clothed body, not looking for release, just looking for movement and sensation. Derek’s soft chuckle brought up shivers and left him groaning, a little sound that grew much louder when Derek bit down on the juncture between neck and shoulder and Stiles’ knees buckled.

“Want more, huh?” Derek’s voice was rough and dark, and Stiles could only nod in response.

Derek spoke while he pulled Stiles over to the couch, and he thought he should have been too far gone to even hear him, but the opposite was true. The words were searing into his brain. He could feel them ghosting over his whole body while Derek sat in the middle of the couch and pulled Stiles to lay crosswise over him, cock trapped on his lap, ass in the air under Derek’s warm hands.

“My history is not common knowledge, Stiles. And you know how Duke is about information. He’s going to want to know what you know and how much you know, but he’s not ever going to want to let you think that there’s anything he doesn’t _already_ know.”

That sounded exactly like him. Stiles could picture it clearly, the way his posture would relax but his mouth would tighten as if he knew he had a tell but had no idea what it was. Derek started running his fingers over Stiles’ ass, dipping down in a tease before running back over his ass and into the crease at his thigh. He dragged his hand down lower, grazing the base of Stiles’ scrotum with the pads of his fingers as he kept talking.

“So he’s gong to make small talk. He’s going to want to know what you are to me.” His voice got light, musing for a moment. “I’d love to watch you answer that. I bet you won’t be able to keep from blushing.”

His hand pulled away and came back again, cool and moist this time as he slid it slowly upwards and rubbed at his ass with all his fingers. It felt slick and filthy, and Stiles wanted nothing more than to spread himself open with his own hands and rub against that hand. He could feel a blush all the way down his chest, as though Duke was right there watching, as though he’d be able to see it just by looking at Stiles.

Derek laughed a little at the helpless mewl that Stiles made. “Yeah. Just like that. _Fuck_ , you are just...” And he stopped, like he actually had to pull himself together. The broad-fingered press became more focused as he kept talking, middle finger slipping in with excruciating slowness. Stiles was loose but tender from earlier, so even though the finger slipped in soft and velvety, he could feel every millimeter of it and it left him clenching his hands in tight fists.

“He’s going to want to know how we met. You’re going to tell him about the night that guy drugged you. But that’s going to be a lie, and he’s going to know it.” One finger became two in slow slick thrusts, Derek’s other hand holding him open, fingers pressing in as deep as possible before sliding out almost completely again.

“He’s going to want to know why.” Two became three and he started twisting, spreading Stiles open as they slipped out and then breached him repeatedly.  The sticky slick sound of the lube, the musky smell, the _feel_ of being so filled, touched so deeply, was so impossibly intimate that Stiles could feel tears sliding down his face as Derek kept talking, words in counterpoint to his movements so well timed that even though he was completely undone by what Derek was doing, he could picture what he was saying perfectly.

“And what you don’t want to tell him is that you knew me long before that. You knew me years ago, in fact. Spotted me at one of those picnics your dad’s department loves putting on. You were just a kid, what, fourteen, fifteen? Took one look and _knew_ I’d noticed you too and could tell I didn’t want to let on. I mean, _fuck_ , you were _so young_. But you were such a cocky little shit. Just wouldn’t let it go.”

The fourth finger sliding in registered suddenly, Derek’s hand slipping up to the knuckles with a queasy-full feeling just on the edge of _too much_ and Stiles tried to squirm away but Derek was holding him still and open with his other hand and he was pushing in as far as he could, undulating his fingers once they were fully seated.

Stiles finally found words, coughed them out with a mouthful of spit, his forehead pressed hard into the cushion under him. “Jesus, Derek, please, it’s too much, Derek, _please_.”

But Derek didn’t stop, just kept talking as he ran his thumb around the rim, pressing on the thinned skin as he kept moving his fingers, rubbing him off from the inside. “You weren’t just cocky. You were smart, too. Waited till I had a couple beers in me, cornered me in the bathroom.”

His fingers stilled, but he kept rubbing slick over Stiles’ rim with his thumb. “But nothing happened. Do you remember why, Stiles?” Stiles shook his head. He could see it, see them both standing there in that bathroom that always smelled a little bit like piss no matter how much bleach the cleaning crew used, could picture himself, sweat from the summer heat hiding the sweat of his nerves, faking confident but feeling flushed and light headed from head to foot, like he’d just realized he’d just gotten himself in way over his head the minute Derek closed in on him and took him by the chin just like he always did.

Derek’s voice was as quiet as a secret, “I told you that you shouldn’t come to me unless you were ready to know what it felt like to have that sweet tight ass of yours wrapped around my wrist, Stiles.”

And he could picture himself backing away, could hear the laugh behind him as he slammed out of the bathroom, could picture that with a panicked reality that was only magnified by the way he was flailing under Derek as his thumb pushed harder, looking for a place to tuck inside and Stiles was begging, “Derek, Derek, _stop_ , please. Don’t. Derek, please, don’t.”

Derek stopped. Laughed soft, just the same way he’d pictured it, left only a couple fingers in him, rubbing his prostate and pressing his perineum with his thumb, slipping his free hand down to grip his cock with a slick and perfect glide. With that same soft laugh in his voice he leaned down and whispered, “You can come now, kid.”

Stiles came as hard as he ever had, Derek’s skilled hands making his orgasm last longer than Stiles ever knew it could, making it last until he was twitching and sobbing from it, past words, past thinking, feeling small, exposed, vulnerable and achy.

Stiles was foggy after that, coming back in slips and fades as Derek cleaned and tended to him with warm and tender hands, tucking him into his bed and then his arms before turning out the lights. It was a final thought, a passing realization that was overpowered by sleep, that as far as he’d taken Stiles, Derek hadn’t even taken off his clothes until they went to bed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He ran a hand over the back of his neck and aimed for casual instead. “So, I have this_ thing _up my ass and I can’t seem to find my clothes?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yeah, so this is just all kinds of porntastic dirtiness, although the fuck-o-rama that has been the last few chapters is drawing to a close (don't worry, it won't be the last time). And I did want to take a moment to re-iterate that there's a freaking smorgasbord of consent issues going on here, and that although that does make for some damned hot fucking, it does and will also make for a big hot fucking mess.  
> Consent is the sexiest thing, darlings. Keep the mindgames for the fiction.

Stiles was jostled awake with the feeling of hands on his hips and his legs being pushed apart. He’d been sleeping on his stomach, and before he could so much as turn his head and open his eyes, the feel of Derek sliding in to him sure and steady until he was balls deep had him gasping like a drowning man.

It _ached_ like pressing on a bruise, but as Derek started on a smooth rhythm, gliding almost all the way out and then dipping back in far deeper than his fingers had reached, it also felt amazingly good. It felt _right_ , like something he hadn’t even known he was missing, and all he could do was tilt his hips for a better angle, drop his shoulders and head on the pillow and brace himself against the wall, hands flat and pushing back against Derek’s press.

A hand on the back of his head tilted him so that he was looking back, and even in the murky light, Stiles could make out Derek’s lazy grin. “Like that, do you?”

Stiles didn’t feel an ounce of shame in nodding hard, wondered if maybe he’d burnt his shame out sometime the night before, wondered if his _need_ for more of _this_ would make him shameless any time Derek laid hands on him. Didn’t think he cared either way, as long as it meant that Derek wasn’t going to stop what he was doing, fucking him so _deep_ and perfectly, pushing down enough that Stiles was effectively fucking the mattress and all of it just fizzed up and down his spine, made him spread his legs even wider, groaning deep and dirty when Derek started speeding up.

Derek growled “Tell me,” gasp caught between his teeth.

Stiles was surprised by how easily the words came out. “Fuck, Derek, you just... feel so fucking _good_... it’s like I can feel you _everywhere_ , and I just want more, I want this to never stop, Derek, _please_.”

Derek gave a hum of approval, letting go of Stiles’ head, dropping both hands above his shoulders, bracketing him in as he started pounding in earnest. It left Stiles breathless and gasping once again, scrabbling to push himself back and take in as much of Derek as he could, gasping _fuck_ , and _yeah_ , until Derek slowed his pace again.

He pulled out slowly, agonizingly slow, stopped right with the flare of his cock tugging on Stiles rim and gasped out, “Say my name, Stiles. I want to hear you say my name.”

Derek slammed back in right when Stiles had opened his mouth, and he nearly choked on it, left it sounding more like a gut-punch than anything, but then Derek did it again and again, his name going from curse to prayer to sob as he slid out slow and came in hard again and again, until all Stiles was boiled down to a burning _need_ , a shattered breath and Derek’s name, until Derek’s orgasm made him just that little bit bigger and longer and harder, and the feel of him buried as deep as he cold be, pulsing with small jerks shoved Stiles over the edge as well, his name sounding like a whisper, like a moment of wonder for one broken second.

Derek’s weight on his back, the feeling of him still twitching slightly and getting soft inside him, his hot breath in Stiles’ ear, all combined to fill him with a sense of lassitude so strong that he didn’t even mind the wet spot he was lying in.

He was already drifting off when Derek pushed himself off and couldn’t help the small whine that broke out of him at the loss of contact, but Derek shushed him with a rub on his back. Stiles wasn’t sure how long Derek was gone, if he’d dozed or it had only been seconds, but the feel of something cold and hard between his legs jolted him awake again.

Derek stilled him with a hand on his lower back. “Wish you could see yourself right now, kid. All fucked out and full of my come. Gonna keep you like this, Stiles, just for a while longer. Know you’re feeling empty. Don’t like it, do you?”

Stiles could only whimper as Derek rubbed against his hole with whatever he was holding, couldn’t help but spread his legs a bit and push his ass up against the soothing coolness of it.

Derek chuckled a bit, equal parts amused and dirty as fuck. “That’s right, Stiles. Gonna plug you up nice and tight.”

The plug was wide, wide enough that Stiles gasped loud as the thickest part of it slid past his rim, but it tapered quickly and Stiles could feel it tuck in and snug up inside of him, the broad pressure of it making his body feel oddly heated and stilled at the same time. He didn’t want to move after that, was thankful when Derek slid a towel under him so he wouldn’t have to sleep in the wet spot _or_ get up. He was out cold once again before Derek even made it back to the bed.

The next time he woke up he was alone in the bed. He had to come out of the room stark naked, since apparently all of his clothes had been left behind somewhere. Maybe it was everything that happened, maybe it was the plug he could feel like a muted pressure, present but illusive inside of him, but he felt incredibly shy about it as he wandered into the kitchen.

Derek was sitting at the tiny kitchen table in one of those stupidly uncomfortable wooden chairs. He was eating what looked like a bowl of cereal and reading off a handheld device, but stopped everything as soon as Stiles arrived. He sat for a minute, all grace and beauty in nothing but pajama bottoms, hands on his splayed hips, devouring every inch of Stiles’ naked form.

The pressure of his gaze alone had Stiles’ getting hard already, as if he hadn’t just gone through the trademarked Derek Fuck-o-lympics, and he wanted to cup himself, hide from those eyes, but he knew it would just make Derek smirk even more and it wouldn’t hide a thing.

He ran a hand over the back of his neck and aimed for casual instead. “So, I have this _thing_ up my ass and I can’t seem to find my clothes?”

Derek chuckled before he answered. “I’ll give you your clothes when you need them. And that _thing_ stays right where it is until I take it out. Hungry?”

Stiles nodded, trying not to think too hard about what it did to him, how hot and helpless it made him feel when Derek talked like that to him. But from the gleam in his eye, Stiles would be an idiot to think that he was going to be doing anything as simple as eating breakfast. He was ready for it when Derek moved his chair away from the table and placed another directly in front of himself, motioning Stiles into it.

It was awkward, trying to sit down gingerly so as no to jostle the plug, the chairs so close together he had to straddle them to sit. And incredibly amusing to Derek as well, watching with an upraised eyebrow as he opened a brightly colored container. It was some kind of kid’s yogurt, the candy-smell of it strong enough that even Stiles, with his very human nose, could smell it as soon as it had been opened.

Stiles would have liked to ask what the fuck this was about, but Derek had dipped two fingers into it and slipped them into Stiles’ mouth before he could get a word out. It was messy, the lack of a spoon meaning that he was wearing as much as he was eating, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to get that this was deliberate on Derek’s part. And, as expected, the cool and slick drips landing on Stiles’ chest were having an effect, as they inched down his torso, thick and cool, sensitizing and waking his body up.

Stiles whimpered at Derek’s whispered _touch yourself_ , answered even as he wrapped a hand around his cock, “Fuck’s sake, Derek, how much more of this do you think my body can handle? I’m not sure what you’re looking to get out of this, but I can tell you, things are starting to get pretty sore, here.”

And Derek, the bastard, very deliberately dropped a big dollop right above Stiles’ nipple, so that he could feel it sliding down with that torturously slow almost-touch the stuff had. His voice was all kinds of amused. “Just take your time. You do know how to go slow, don’t you, kid?”

And even as he shuddered with the dripping candy flavored yogurt and felt himself get hard and eager in his own hand, he couldn’t stop himself from mouthing off. “I swear, Derek if you call me kid one more time–”

“I swear, Stiles, if you finish that sentence I am going to make it so that you can’t help but come every time I call you _kid_.”

And Stiles didn’t, _couldn’t_ doubt that for a second. But it gave him pause. And finally made some nagging thoughts he’d been having come to the fore, enough that he had to stop, enough that Derek stopped as well, one eyebrow raised and waiting.

“Yeah. Not saying I need one right this minute, but what’s the safe word, here? You know, in case I _do_.”

Derek answered casually, not making eye contact as he busied himself with the ridiculous yogurt. “You get no safeword Stiles. Your safeword is a bullet to the back of your head.”

It sent chills through him, but the sensation turned flushed and heated as Derek locked eyes with him again and leaned in a bit. “You’re _mine_ , now Stiles. I’m not going to let anyone get to you.”

Stiles _knew_ those words. The feel of them brought him back to sitting in Deucalion’s office, trying to will the heat of Derek’s presence out of his mind even before the night’s events. Funny how the weight of those words took on a completely different meaning in light of what had come to pass.

Or did they?

And it came together, then, it all made sense, how his body would be going haywire while Duke would be asking questions and those fuckers who could hear his heartbeat and smell his skin response would be perfectly capable of detecting a lie, but completely incapable of detecting the truth.

Because a kid playing sex-games with a dominating and possessive ex-cop would act, look and smell a whole lot like a kid getting played by an active-duty cop that owned him and could get him killed. Especially in retrospect, after they caught the show in the club and in the car. Especially when their second line of questioning would have him smelling like candy-coated sex and embarrassment.

Fucking yogurt. As fucked up as this game of Derek’s was, with its total disregard for Stiles’ consent or mental well-being, there was also something liberating about it all when Stiles factored in the stakes and the real motivation behind his actions. He found an odd comfort in knowing that even though he was flying without a net as usual, those out to get him were known quantities, and those on his side were sitting there in front of him, torturing him with refrigerated children’s dairy products.

Derek smiled something feral as he watched Stiles squeeze himself back to erect, licking a smear of yogurt off Stiles’ lips before feeding him again, dripping cold and slippery on him until Stiles started sucking and licking at his fingers like they were more than just failed spoons, until something in it all finally got to Derek and he pushed down his own pants and pulled Stiles up to straddle his lap, slipping his dick in next to Stiles’ and adding his own hand to the grip, leaning back and watching as Stiles jacked them, pouring the last of the cold wet and slippery yogurt over their cocks and choking out a barked laugh as the sudden sensation pushed them both over the edge.

Stiles had no idea exactly how the man had managed it, but nearly all the yogurt and absolutely all their come landed on Stiles’ chest and belly. And as much as it should not have surprised him in the least, it still made him shudder with aftershocks when Derek scooped up the mess with two fingers and fed that to Stiles until there was nothing left on his skin but half-dried sticky trails.

When there wasn’t a single drop left that could be scraped off, Derek sent him to the shower. Stiles guessed the soap must have gone the way of his clothes, because it was nowhere _he_ could find. He could only hope that hot water would be enough to keep him from smelling like rotten milk to people who didn’t need their noses fucked with, but as far as he could tell, all he smelled was vaguely sweet by the time he got out.

He left the plug in. Because Derek had said as much. He only hoped the bastard wasn’t planning on making him wear it all day. He wasn’t sure he was up to that level of sex-related shenanigans. And of course, once he was finally back in his clothes, he lived to regret his wishes, as Derek bent him over and pulled down his pants, removing the plug only seconds before dragging him out the door. He could feel come and lube starting to slip out of his ass by the time they were in the elevator, and by the evil satisfied smirk on the man’s face, Derek knew as much.

He didn’t even drive them somewhere, no, made Stiles walk instead, sore, tender and soiled as he may have been, made him go into some nearby diner even though Stiles remarked pointedly that he wasn’t hungry. Derek smirked and shrugged again, aviator glasses on even though they were sitting indoors, for fuck’s sake, and asked Stiles if he really thought he’d still be there by the time the food arrived.

Derek had been right, though. The waitress hadn’t even brought their coffee by the time one of Deucalion’s heavy hitters came waltzing through the door.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _His pants were crusty, his balls itched, his ass was sore and all of it was, to say the least, very distracting._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm playing Deucalion so loose and completely OOC that I didn't write him as blind. Let's just say that I really like being able to call a mob boss "Duke" and leave it at that, because the name is likely the only thing my version and the show's version have in common.

It worked. Whatever else Derek had done to him, his plan worked. The first thing out of Deucalion’s mouth as he walked in the man’s office was “ _Jesus wept_ , kid, you smell like a fucking popsicle!”

The bodyguard behind him muttered “Yeah, boss, that’s not the only thing he smells like.”

Stiles could feel his whole body blush, not just at the comments but at his own reactions to hearing himself called _kid_. And it went on from there, as Duke raised a corner of his mouth, looking like the cat who ate the canary before he started on the Full Disclosure intended just for Stiles' well-being, out of the kindness of Deucalion’s heart.

The fact that Derek was a cop? _Used to be_ slipped out of him like a bored rejoinder, like the jingle to an overused commercial and Stiles wasn’t even thinking about what the words meant, whether they were true or not. They were just _words_. No one questioned them.

Every time he heard Derek’s name, he could hear it echoed back breathlessly in his own voice, a whispered reminder of all the different ways he’d said the name himself, and the weight and heat of everything he’d felt the night before was inescapable.

The story about the club had Duke more pissed off about the fact that Stiles had been frequenting venues that were not his than about the fact Stiles was hedging his answer, and by the time he’d finally broken down and spat out a truncated version of that imaginary moment in the department’s bathroom, Stiles couldn’t stop squirming with the memory of Derek’s fingers buried deep in him and his thumb looking to find purchase, and whatever signals it was he was sending out at that point must have been so muddled that he could have said _anything_ and he would have registered as believable. Fucked up, but believable.

They even figured they’d had a epiphany, understanding with renewed clarity why it was that Stiles cared _so little_ about the fact that Derek had been a cop. He’d known a long time, hadn’t he? With a sick little smirk Duke wondered out loud if Stiles had more of a cop kink or a daddy kink, but even though Stiles hadn’t been able to fight off the blush he did sneer in response that it was likely more of an _asshole_ thing, and would he like to try the theory out?

Deucalion took pride in how straight he was. It got him of the topic of Stiles’ dad, at least.

But it also got him smelling blood in the water and the man leaned in, oh-so-very shark-like. “So he’s an asshole, Derek Hale the ex-cop fuck buddy, eh? Gotta say, I didn’t picture you for the type to stay on your knees. Does he like it when you fight back?” It was too close to home, too real and personal and skirting the edges of shit that really did scare him for Stiles to be able to do anything but glare, and Duke’s grin just got toothier. “Does he ever let you win, Stiles? Does he ever give you a _choice_? Because, I gotta be honest, from everything I’ve heard, he doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who says _please_.”

There it was, the bait and the hook, dangling right in front of his nose, and if Stiles were in any way more invested in his fake relationship with a not-so- _ex_ cop and less invested in surviving, he would have been completely fucked. But his priorities kept him on his toes, helped him remember just who he was dealing with.

So he bit out an answer, unconcerned about his feelings showing because everything he was feeling just played into the farce he was stuck in the middle of. “Unlike you, right? Are you trying to tell me you’re the nice guy in this scenario? I don’t exactly remember you giving me much in the way of _choices_ , there, big guy.”

It dropped Deucalion back into his seat, just a teeny bit defensive. “There’s a big difference, here, Stiles. You work for me. That doesn’t mean that I own you, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean I’m gonna care who you’re getting your rocks off with, _unless_ he’s a danger to you. So, it’s fun right now. You’re getting your brains fucked out, I’m sure that’s a rush. But at some point, a bright kid like you, you’re gonna get over being led around by your dick. At that point, you might find Derek Hale to be a completely different man than you expected. At that point, you might remember who your friends really are.”

Friend. Right. Like the bastard wouldn’t drop him like a rabid dog without blinking an eye if it suited him. If Stiles stepped out of line in any way that made these fuckers twitchy, he was screwed, even after they bought the Stiles-as-fuck-pet scenario.

 _Your safeword is a bullet to the back of the head._ Something told him _this_ was exactly what Derek meant.

Deucalion interpreted the silence to suit his impressions and pressed on. “You get to a point where the man starts to get out of hand, you come to me, got it? He’s not what you think he is, Stiles, and you’re better off not messing with him, but I know you well enough to know you aren’t going to listen to me. So you just keep your eyes open, there, kid. And come to me if you want to keep your dad out of it when the shit hits the fan.”

Because there was nothing like an implied debt to keep him under Duke’s thumb for the rest of his foreseeable. That was a classic maneuver, and Stiles could see it for what it was worth, but something had Deucalion convinced that Derek was some sort of a threat, not to himself, he’d never let on if that had been the case, but to Stiles. He _knew_ something, but Stiles wasn’t going to ask, wasn’t going to trust Deucalion’s version of the truth for a fucking second.

But. He wasn’t exactly going to discard anything that came his way, either. And much as he was backing Derek’s play for the moment, he would be wise to remember that there was only one side he could afford to be on and that was his own. Just because he was worth something to both of these men didn’t mean that either one of them was looking out for him. They each had their own interests to protect, and he could trust them only so far as those interests intersected and not a single inch further.

It should not come as a surprise to think that Derek could be hiding something in the first place. He probably had a million secrets, hell, Stiles didn’t even know the things about him that weren’t secret. It wasn’t like they ever _talked_. At least not about anything that didn’t involve making Stiles come, anyway.

And besides, for all Stiles knew, Ducalion could be working off intel based on Derek’s ex-cop identity. After all, it wasn’t common for enhanced operatives to so much as retire, let alone get kicked off the force. They were more of the “die on your horse” variety of people. Odds are they had to come up with something pretty impressive to justify the action.

Stiles would have thought that ride-or-die attitude was a personality issue, but the intensity of these guys, the way it carried through with all the enhanced cops he’d met, had brought him to the conclusion that there was something about the whole government version of the “enhancement” process that turned them all into crazy ass never-quit motherfuckers. Even when they got old or crippled, they didn’t leave. Slowed down a little, but they didn’t ever stop.

There was one thing that came out of the meeting that Stiles was going to count as a win. He got Derek’s full name. With a little time and access to a decent port, he knew he could find out the rest. Of course, given the way everybody was on him like flies on shit, finding a decent untapped port might be something of a challenge, especially if Duke had hacked into all lines associated with him.

Stiles had no doubt, though, that he'd find a way. After all, information _wanted_ to be free. That was gospel. It was just a matter of detail to find the right bird-cage to open. And Stiles? Was pretty fucking good at that.

Deucalion let him go. Sent him home with a bored flick of his wrist that let Stiles know that he thought he’d gotten whatever he was after and believed himself to have the upper hand. And Stiles was worn out enough from the past twelve hours of his life that his relief didn’t even register as a blip in anyone’s screen. But it stood to reason. His pants were crusty, his balls itched, his ass was sore and all of it was, to say the least, very distracting.  He was obsessing over the thought of taking a hot shower or twenty and passing out in his own bed. It left no room for the overwhelming elation he might have been feeling about pulling off a bid for not-dying.

Apparently, he reeked so much that not even Lenny, the _nice_ bodyguard, would give him a ride home. Thankfully, the subway full of daytime commuters didn’t seem to notice much. Or, at least, not many of them did, and he didn’t mind the smirk he got from the cute-ass soldier boy in fatigues who squeezed his way past with just a little more touching than was strictly necessary. That event would have merited some serious flirt, but he was starting to crash, having finally run out of adrenaline.

Which was exactly _not_ the state he needed to be in to face his dad. Which was also why he wasn’t in the least bit surprised to hear his dad’s voice calling him into the kitchen the minute he walked through the door. His life just worked that way. He was getting used to that.

Whatever the hell it was his dad had in mind to say froze into a dead silence the minute he took a look at Stiles. He gestured to a chair after a beat, and Stiles dropped into it, too tired to start in with deflections or distractions. Strangely, Stiles felt no desperate urge to hide or lie. So much shit had happened recently that just knowing that the guy sitting across from him was the one person he could count on _not_ to hurt him was enough to set Stiles at ease.

The Sheriff raised a single eyebrow. “So, Scott’s into biting, is he?”

Stiles’ eyes opened like saucers at the question and his dad gestured to his collar while Stiles sputtered. He couldn’t see it, but when he pressed down on the spot it ached like a bruise and he could picture his legs turning into jelly while Derek held him up, teeth digging in. It made Stiles blush so hard that he could feel it prickling all the way down his spine. Stiles squirmed and gestured wildly with his hands but couldn’t make a single coherent sound come out of his mouth.

His dad looked almost as uncomfortable when Stiles finally settled down, started and stopped short a couple different sentences before he finally put both hands down flat on the kitchen table and spoke to them.

“Look, kid. I know you’re growing up. Hell, it’s only a matter of months before you won’t even be a minor anymore. So, the things you’re doing – _whatever_ you’re doing... I’d be an idiot to be surprised about it. Not happy that you think you need to come up with some half-assed lie about a _sleepover_ , for god’s sake.” And he finally looked up at Stiles with so much less anger and so much more tenderness than Stiles had been expecting. “If you’re not going to make it home, just call, okay? Let me know you’re okay. I know you’re smart. I’m trusting you to be safe.” And he caught the small twitch Stiles tried to hide at the word. “You are being safe, aren’t you?”

Stiles couldn’t trust his voice with an answer, just nodded mutely, watched his dad absorb whatever meaning he gleaned from it before he went on, voice even softer. “Listen, I’m not going to pry. I don’t think it gets us anywhere, anyway. We’re kind of past the point of me being your keeper. But I hope you trust me enough to tell me if you’re in trouble. And call me? If things get out of hand, if you’re stranded, if you need me, _whatever_ , just call me and I’ll be there, no questions asked. Okay?”

He had to lock his jaw to hold back the tears that were threatening to well up, nodding hard and wrapping his dad into a hard hug before he trusted his voice enough to whisper. “Yeah, dad. I will, I promise. Love you dad.”

It didn’t even feel like a lie, but he didn’t look back as he barreled down the hall into the shower. And if, after he scrubbed so hard he probably stripped off a couple layers of skin, he spent way too long sitting on the shower floor, hugging his knees and crying like an emo princess for fuck-knows-what of a hundred reasons? Well, nobody was watching, were they?

It helped him sleep, at any rate. Hard and dreamlessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I were actually writing, I don’t know, a novel or something, I’d probably have added some more explanation earlier, but I’m not, so I’m just going to give you the backstory here even though it feels like cheating. Ports, or portals, are what I have decided this eras computers have become. They are essentially connecting devices that shunt the bulk of the processing to servers and mainframes that the ports access remotely. I’m not picturing everything happening in “the cloud”, I’m picturing buildings having some sort of mainframe in the basement, access provided the way that any other utility might be. Everyone stores all their files, data and memory with online services of their choosing (similar to the way we use Carbonite for personal files and Steam for games? Only instantly saveable and instantly accessible?) Anywho... I’m sure this all sounds like nasty pseudoscience to those of you who know more about these things (which is likely everybody), so thanks for putting up with it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It hit him like a metric fuckton of bricks, somewhere in the middle of the night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for: No sex! Just plot!  
> ('cause at this point I think this is the appropriate thing to be shocked about)

Stiles slept and sat around through most of the day and following night. There was no word from Derek. Stiles had no idea what to make of it, except that it pissed him off to no end that he should even _care_ , but there he was, sitting around like a tween girl pining after the high school jock and it made him feel weaker and dirtier than anything they’d done together had.

It was stupid, really. Derek had made his boundaries clear, left no doubt that what they were doing was for the express purpose of surviving the inquisition, and now that it was over, Stiles was an idiot for thinking that anything else was going to come of it. He was an idiot for thinking that he even _wanted_ anything with Derek. The whole premise of their relationship had basically been a fuck-or-die scenario, and that was no way to start anything _real_ , that was no way to...

Wait. What the fuck was he going on about? _Something real?_

It hit him like a metric fuckton of bricks, somewhere in the middle of the night. He wanted something with Derek. He wanted _something real_ with Derek, and if the way his dick twitched at the thought of it, he wanted something like what they already had. Only, properly done, with conversations and safewords and contracts and shit and _who the fuck was he kidding?_

He’d given the man a green light invitation, practically drew a landing strip straight to his dick and the guy had turned him down cold. With a fucking rock-hard erection had turned Stiles down, didn’t lay a finger out of place on him until Stiles screwed the pooch and he’d had to, to get him out of the club and away from Deucalion until he could pass muster. If that wasn’t pretty solid evidence that the man had little to no interest in _something real_ with Stiles, he wasn’t sure what was.

Didn’t seem to change the fact that Stiles wanted.

He hadn’t heard from Derek by the time he dragged his ass out of bed at a halfway decent hour the next day, and that had him in a near-panic, but he went about his daily routine as if nothing was out of place. His Dad was home, working swing-shift that week, so Stiles figured he’d get the hell out and distract himself with schoolwork for a few hours, maybe manage something productive with all the _oh shit something happened_ energy he had going on before his antics had his dad so suspicious that he put in a call to Scotland Yard.

The walk to the library did help. Falling into his common routines helped a lot, and by the time he’d sat down at his favorite cubby and pulled on his headphones, he might have even felt halfway normal again.

It lasted until he reached in his backpack for his pens and found a little piece of paper tucked in with them. It was the size of a business card and had a set of numbers and letters neatly handwritten on it. They would have meant very little to most people, but Stiles knew the library like the back of his hand, was familiar with the Dewey decimal system they _still_ used in the stacks in the basement and had a pretty good idea of exactly where to go to find the book’s location.

He didn’t find the book after all, had no idea what it was even about, other than French historical non-fiction, because Derek was standing in the row, leaning against a bookcase, arms crossed and waiting. He gave Stiles a slow nod when he showed up, signaled with two fingers for him to follow and made his way down another short flight of stairs to a hallway that led to a bathroom and a locked door marked “Authorized Personnel.”

Derek nodded after checking the bathroom but kept them standing in the hallway. It was one of the least-used corners of the building, and Stiles guessed it worked well in that you could see every location someone was coming in from, the heavy doors leading to the stacks making it impossible for anyone to snoop on the other side of them. He also knew about Libraries and their infamous battles against Surveillance, which made that little hallway one of the most private places in the entire city.

Derek came in close with a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, leaning in to look him in the eye. “Doing okay, kid?”

Just... Even his _voice_ did shit to Stiles. He had to swallow hard and clear his throat to answer. “Yeah. Think so. Still alive at any rate. They bought it, I think.”

Derek’s nod and answering smile were warm in a way Stiles hadn’t known the man capable of. “They sure did. You did a great job. They pulled the guy who was tailing me about ten minutes after they cut you loose. I’m proud of you, Stiles. You did good.”

Fuck if _that_ didn’t make him want to preen like a show-dog. And fuck if that reaction didn’t bring the smartass out. “Yeah? Are you here to give me a reward then?” He made his smile as lewd as possible, canting his hip on a slow sway.

Stiles caught something sharp and hungry flit in Derek’s eyes, there and gone in a blink before he dropped his head with a larger grin and a shake of his head before he finally looked back up. “Something better, I think.”

He was holding up a keycard. It was a blue government issue card, like the kind the librarians hoarded for the rare books room. Derek used it on the locked door. It was a little room, cool and empty save for a desk, a chair and a portal that was hooked up to its own processing stack. It was an independent portal. What that meant was that nobody could track what Stiles did on it. Derek cleared his throat and handed over the keycard while Stiles tried to wrap his brain around what he was looking at.

“Independent access, Stiles. And with that card, virtually unlimited, untraceable access online. I wouldn’t try to break past any firewalls you do encounter, those would likely be military or secret service and they’ll just fry your card’s access numbers, but other than that, here’s your key to the city.”

Stiles was having trouble keeping his mouth shut. “What? Wait. No, really. What? Why are you giving me this, Derek?”

Derek gave him half a shrug, hands stuffed into his back pockets. “You had questions. My guess, you can put that card to better use getting answers than I could. And I’m sure you have even more questions after talking to Deucalion. I just. Wanted to give you that. After everything.”

 _After everything_. He was pretty sure he knew what Derek was talking about, and he was pretty damn sure he didn’t like the guilty tone in it at all. “Oh, you mean after the hottest sex I’ve ever had in my life? After coming so hard I swear I saw god, and oh, by the way, got to pull one over on Duke? Is that the _everything_ we’re talking about?”

He’d let his tone get soft, moved up against Derek, but Derek was having none of it, putting both hands on Stiles’ shoulders and moving him back a step, looking over his shoulder as he answered. “ _Stiles_. Don’t. Look, just... do some research, okay?” He was out the door before Stiles could say anything else, the door latching on Derek’s murmured “I’ll see you when you’re done.”

Well. Didn’t that just fuck the party mood but good. Then again. He had access. No, scratch that, he had Access. Capital-fucking-A-Access, and he was guessing that Derek didn’t really have a clue what he’d just done, giving that kind of power to a data-miner with the mad skillz of Stiles Stilinski, Master of the ancient art of Google-fu. Okay, so , maybe Google wasn’t exactly _ancient_ , but still...

He actually had his own search engine algorithm. He’d come up with it for a project on sifting meta-data, using what Stiles liked to call negative data-space to better flesh out an information search. It was something he’d come up with while half-sane on a stimulant crash, and he was kind of proud of it, to be honest. Harris had accused him of quackery and plagiarism, and it had pissed Stiles off so badly that he’d published his little Dootle-bug (trademark pending) on a shareware blog. It got some nice reviews.

It also got him awesome amounts of intel, and got him through all sorts of back doors on information people would rather keep hidden. So he was going to put his dick on hold for a little while, set a timer to what seemed like a reasonable school-work routine, and let himself sink into the information jet-stream.

He started with Derek. _Of course_ he started with Derek, and found a hell of a lot of shit on a hell of a lot of channels he could only ever have dreamed of tapping into before. It turned out that Derek had, in fact, been a cop. Not affiliated with the DEA, but part of the Tactical Rapid Urban Patrol, SWAT teams on steroids, enhanced cops that had broad jurisdictions and intra-departmental clearances to come in fast and hard whenever a local police force was out-manned or out-gunned or out-classed in any other way that required immediate attention before the FBI or the Marshals came sauntering in.

He’d heard about these guys before. Regular law enforcement called them ‘The Troops’ but didn’t seem to hold the sort of irritation and disdain for them as they did for Feds or other Bureaus. Probably because they just came in, took care of business and only stuck around long enough to mop things up and share a beer at the end of the day, but never had any interest in taking over or taking credit or really, being noticed in any way.

In fact, the only reason Stiles knew Derek was part of a TRUP squad was because something went incredibly wrong with his. Incredibly, fatally and messily wrong during a half-assed bank heist that left everyone except Peter and Derek dead. The whole thing was freaky-weird. Off hours, no hostages, no bystanders, just the bad guys and the squad. There had been an internal investigation and allegations made before the story cut into two completely separate versions. The classified version dead-ended at a Federal firewall of biblical proportions.

The official public version was that Derek and Peter had been retired, whereabouts unknown. The not-so-secret half-hidden easter egg in the mix disclosed that they had been indicted for involuntary manslaughter, accused of taking an unspecified drug which caused an adverse reaction with the chemicals used in the enhancement process and caused them to go apeshit. Eventually the case had been dropped because everyone on the squad had come up positive on the tox-screen for the same drug, so there was no way of knowing who shot what and when, and wether or not they had knowingly ingested the drug.

It tweaked something in Stiles’ memory. There had been something in the news a while back that his dad had obsessed over. Some senate hearing about some part of the enhancement process, and how it had caused unstable violent reactions. Calling that up and looking at the aftermath, Stiles saw that the whole thing led to a major pharmaceutical kerfuffle. And where you had pharma, you had money. Big money. That definitely warranted more digging.

The documents on the hearing itself lead him smack into a matter-of-national-security firewall, but a side-search into an incompetent senate intern’s accessible files brought him right back to Derek’s case, as well as a few others. The hearing resulted in the complete collapse of one pharmaceutical company and well as the ascendancy of another.

Which, really, you’d think someone other than a high-school dropout with an access card could have figured this out, but the guy heading the inquest? Senator Argent. It caught Stiles’ eye because _that_ was the very same senator Deucalion liked to brag about owning. And when he followed the name Argent, a couple of shell corporations and loose affiliations later brought him right back to Aconitus, the pharmaceutical company that ended up with exclusive distribution rights for any and all government agency enhancement programs. And that added up to a fuckton of money. Federal rights to Federal money, which meant a very, very long term arrangement over a fuckton of money.

But it still didn’t tell him what the fuck had happened in that bank with Derek. At least, it didn’t until an ancillary scan of the society pages ran him right the fuck into a tabloid shot of socialite fortune-500 heiress Kate Argent dashing out of some club or another, hand pulling hard on the wrist of a ridiculously young and dazed-looking Derek Hale. The caption referred to him as her flavor-of-the-week, but even without a credit and slightly out of focus, there was no mistaking who it was.

Stiles kept coming back to that picture. There was just something about it that put so much together into one huge nauseating picture. The picture had been redacted likely nanoseconds after it had been published, but someone had cut-and-pasted in onto their blog before that happened, and just like all that other online shit you just can’t kill, there was at least one copy of the shot that made it through the strafing that left the tabloid dead in the water by the time Derek had been watching his squad-mates get turned into hamburger in the lobby of some half-rate savings and loan. And this bitch? Was not a fucking coincidence.

What really got to him, though, was that look in Derek’s eyes, not like he was high, but like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. It was familiar to him, not because he’d seen it on Derek’s face before but because he knew what it felt like to be wearing that expression. The way she was gripping his wrist and he was nearly tripping over himself behind her, the way her back was arrogantly straight and her step was hard and confident in stilettos that cost more than an inner-city family of four would spend in a year, it all spoke volumes about exactly what was going on.

And if he cropped her out and zoomed in on him, right before the resolution pixellated into a cubist abstract he could just about make out, hiding under the edge of his white button-down, what looked to be a collar. Something substantial and stiff wrapped around his neck, with a glint of metal right where it disappeared under his shirt.

Stiles stalled out at that point. Had no idea how long he sat staring at that same image, mind blank, tracing the dark shadow on Derek’s throat before the timer on his phone dragged him out of his daze with a lurch. He didn’t know what to think. Had no idea what to make of _anything_ as he packed up and made his way back out of the basement, blinking rapidly at the light streaming in from the glass-front of the building.

He saw Derek before he even made it out of the door, standing on the sidewalk, leaning against his car with arms crossed and aviator sunglasses on, every inch the massively up-armored version of that kid in the picture. He was completely unreadable as he pushed off the car and opened the door, leading Stiles into his car with a warm hand squeezing back of his neck. Stiles was guessing that touch was for the benefit of anyone watching, but it still calmed his whole body. It didn’t really surprise him anymore, he was getting used to the powerful way his body reacted to Derek’s touch. What did surprise him this time, though, was how much it felt like comfort and how little it felt like sex.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And he kept going while Derek tried to keep his breathing level, tried to keep himself from making any explosive movements. It wasn’t like Stiles was a phone he could throw across a room._

It had been easy, tailing the kid without anyone noticing and slipping the note in his backpack. With the amount of time Stiles spent in the library and with the way he’d already been profiled as having a propensity for research, Derek had no doubts he would need very little in the way of direction.

He hadn’t even had to wait all that long before the kid showed up in the stacks, wide-eyed and slightly breathless. It was all Derek could do not to pin him down and maul him right then and there, but he didn’t let that show. He was a professional, after all. The way the little shit was such a goddamned flirt, though. It was enough to shut off all his higher brain functions and he was actually pretty impressed with himself that he made it out the door without letting anything happen.

Because he really, genuinely didn’t want to start anything. At least, not until he’d leveled the playing field somewhat, and the only way he could think of doing that, the only power he figured he could give Stiles that no one could take from him and that could give him at least a small sense of self-reliance was knowledge. That key-card could go a long way to help him in that endeavor.

Derek also knew perfectly well what else he was giving the kid. He wasn’t an idiot, had a pretty good idea of the way Stiles’ mind worked, and was willing to lay money on the fact that before he even bothered to find out what the fuck Deucalion was up to, the kid was going to look into Derek’s past.

It was kind of an ingenious way of learning just how capable the kid was, since Derek knew his own story from the inside out. What he didn’t want to admit, to himself as much as anyone, was that it was also a way to give up a piece of himself after everything he’d taken from the kid. That was the _after everything_ that Stiles didn’t get.

Whether Stiles in theory had agreed to it or not, what they started was done under false pretenses, in the name of necessity, and it wasn’t anything he should have ever had to do for any reason other than he wanted to. Whether he enjoyed it or not was irrelevant. Whether he wanted to keep going or not was irrelevant. They were not lovers, and it hadn’t been about sharing their bodies with each other, it had been about surviving, pure and simple, and the kid deserved more than that.

And the fact that Derek was invested in thinking about what the kid _deserved_ was not something he was going to think too long or hard about because Derek did not _deserve_ Stiles. He was too fucked up and broken and far too willing to compromise everything that mattered in the name of the job, or the greater good, or vengeance (because, let’s tell it like it is, he would make the whole world shed its virgin blood if that was what it took to get his share of retribution). He was a menace. Had been a controlled menace before Kate and the games that ended in hell and blood, and became a much more bloodthirsty thing after that.

It was only the likes of Peter that kept him from losing his shit completely, which was really fucking ironically hilarious considering who Peter was. And Peter would argue that what Stiles deserved was completely irrelevant, but then Peter had always been of the “You keep what you kill” mentality. Peter was thrilled at the current turn of events. Likely would have some dissenting opinions about the key-card move Derek had pulled, but Derek didn’t doubt that Peter would put up with all nature of shenanigans as long as Derek had Stiles on a leash.

And Derek was _not_ going to start thinking about Stiles on a leash. Or half-naked, on his knees and collared. Okay, to be more precise, he was not going to think about these things while standing on a busy sidewalk, watching the kid nearly stumble in his direction. It felt like a moment of truth, watching him approach, but it wasn’t the sort of moment that gave him any answers other than the fact that he hadn’t just kept walking and the fact that his whole body had softened at Derek’s touch in a mouthwateringly smooth fashion.

He made sure to let the sub-vocal purr out _before_ he climbed in the car. There was no need for him to be encouraging the kid until they’d at least tried to have a conversation, even if he lacked enough self-control _not_ to let things go the way he was pretty sure they were going to go once they got back to his apartment. But hey, the Peter-in-his-mind and his own dick agreed, the kid had gotten in the car of his own free will. That made him fair game.

But he knew he and his dick didn’t exactly see eye to eye on their definitions of free will. And he was keeping Peter out of the present equation.

The silence in the car was heavy, Stiles biting his bottom lip as if to keep things from pouring out, his whole body vibrating with false starts and twitches. But he wasn’t talking, which was good. It meant that he’d been paying attention when Derek had told him to be careful about where and when he spoke. It could also mean that he was working off of Derek’s lead, and that possibility pleased him to an obscene degree.

Stiles carried his hard-fought silence all the way through Derek’s threshold and on to his couch, where he sat bent over, hands clasped between his knees. And even though Derek didn’t actually know Stiles well enough to know exactly what that posture meant, he was suddenly filled with dread.

Because Stiles wasn’t afraid. So if he wasn’t scared but was short on words, he was clearly trying to deal with something delicately, and that was way too close to pity for Derek’s taste. Made him want to kick the kid out on his ass before he even started, but he stood his ground, crossed his arms and waited to see what kind of conclusions the kid had come to about Derek’s broken state of being with the information he’d gleaned. He didn’t doubt that was the direction they were moving in and braced himself for some kind of bullshit conversation about PTSD and survivor’s guilt.

Stiles finally straightened, bracing himself before he looked Derek straight in the eye. He cleared his throat, but didn’t manage to hold back a small stutter.

“Kate Argent.”

It was all he said.

It was all he needed to say for the ground to drop out from under Derek’s feet. Never mind the fact that this was far deeper than he ever would have expected a single afternoon’s jaunt to take the kid; he just wasn’t prepared for this conversation. In any way. He dropped back against the wall while Stiles interpreted the silence as an invitation to keep going.

“She had something to do with it, didn’t she? The whole mess in the bank?”

And he kept going while Derek tried to keep his breathing level, tried to keep himself from making any explosive movements. It wasn’t like Stiles was a phone he could throw across a room.

“I mean, first she’s dating you, then there’s the massacre and all of a sudden her daddy’s company is making _billions_ off what happened? There’s no way in hell that’s a coincidence.”

Stiles’ eyes focused on Derek and he froze solid, finally registering the effect his words were having. He opened his mouth once or twice, like his brain was finally catching up to his mouth and he was figuring out just how many different implications his conversation had to matters on hand. To matters between the two of them.

Derek finally spoke up, voice clipped and as cold as steel. “And what, exactly, do you know about Kate Argent _dating_ me?”

Stiles couldn’t look him in the eye when he replied, which was an answer in and of itself. “Enough.”

Indeed. Derek was queasily grateful that Stiles didn’t seem interested in getting into details. He gave the only answer he could, the only words he’d ever been capable of pulling together without breaking things. “She gained entry into our quarters.” _Not_ going to get into details over exactly how it had been that the bitch had _gained access_ in the first place. He was a smart kid, he’d figure it out. “Switched out the meds.”

That was all he had to say on the matter. Stiles could either put it all together himself or let it drop. And from the clear-eyed thoughtful distant frown on the kid’s face, he got everything he needed out of it. He spoke up again after a second. “The Argents are in with Deucalion. Is that why? Is that why you’re looking at him? Is that why you...?”

The last question stalled out on a little choke, like bringing up the real nature of their relationship had become something hard for Stiles to vocalize. There was something incredibly satisfying about that, about knowing how deep under the kid’s skin he’d already gotten.

It raised a vicious hunger and made Derek want to sharpen his teeth on the kid. He could feel his scalp tingle and his skin tighten, could feel the spike in adrenaline that was kicking up an augmented response. He welcomed the feeling, always did and always would. The rush of being in an augmented state was incomparable to any other high.

He wasn’t worried that he was going to lose control around Stiles, the kid was _his_. But he could _know_ Stiles so much better when he was like this, could hear and smell and even _taste_ him from a few feet away. It still took effort to keep his mind working on a plane more than just purely physical, but he’d had a lot of experience with keeping his higher functions in order no matter what state he was in.

And maybe there was more he should have hashed out first, maybe there was some sort of _talking_ he still owed, but he could feel his principles evaporate with the way Stiles’ eyes widened as he watched Derek’s gaze sharpen. There was a purpose still, but the goal was simple. He aimed to make Stiles his in every way he could.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He let Stiles make the first move in the dance they’d started in on, savoring the mounting tension with an unnatural calm._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you read what Derek said he'd do to Stiles in chapter 9 but didn't take it to heart, did you? Bear in mind, there is a very fine line between sex and psychological warfare in dangerous games of this nature.  
> But do you think _Stiles_ is the type _not_ to be well aware of what Derek's doing?

He let the silence settle heavily between them, drank Stiles in with all his senses, let himself feel every inch of the beast he had worked so hard to become. He let Stiles make the first move in the dance they’d started in on, savoring the mounting tension with an unnatural calm.

The kid’s question was quiet and his heartbeat was rabbiting nearly out of control, but it wasn’t exactly _fear_ , what Stiles was putting out. “Derek? What is it that you want from me?”

Derek closed in, smooth and easy, crouching between Stiles’ knees and gripping his jaw with one hand. He leaned in slow, watching those sinfully full lips part of their own accord as he breathed over them and watched Stiles’ eyes cloud over in a spiral of want. He could smell that now, the heat the kid felt whenever Derek touched him. When he breathed in through his mouth he could taste it on the tip of his tongue, salt sweet and bitter mixing together into a heady perfume.

His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. “I want _everything_ , Stiles.”

He came on slow but kissed him hard and deep, drank him in, pressed his whole body in, pushed until Stiles gave, until the moment he could feel Stiles succumb and submit, finally shutting down the doubts and fears that had been holding him together, keeping him inside himself. Derek pulled back only inches, breathing in Stiles’ panting gasps, running fingers softly over the delicate skin under his eyes, brushing over his darkened lips.

“The question here, Stiles, is what do _you_ want?”

He hardly recognized his own voice with the darkened melody it had taken up, but he could recognize the tone. It was something savage and ready to hunt. Stiles wasn’t going to go down easy, not with the way Derek was going to push. And he was going to savor every moment of it.

Stiles huffed out a small laugh. “I don’t... I don’t know what I want. _You?_ More of _this_?” He gave a thrust with his hips, a slow roll that was not tentative in the slightest.

Hardly what Derek was looking for. He slipped a hand around Stiles’ throat and pulled him up, keeping them close together so that their slide to standing was a smooth glide.

He let a wolf’s grin play on his lips. “Nice try. But you’re going to have to do better than that.”

And there it was, a little shadow in the corner of his eyes, just a touch of fear as Derek slipped his hand around to the back of Stiles’ neck, guiding him past, away from the couch and into his room. He could feel a shudder follow his hand up Stiles' flank as he pushed up his shirt, could almost count the goosebumps as they bloomed under his touch.

He savored the small tremble in the kid’s hands as he pulled them by the wrists to rest under the hem his own shirt, stretched into the light touch as Stiles pulled off Derek’s shirt and then slid back down, exploring with hungry eyes and hands what he’d been too far gone to enjoy the last time they did this. Derek was well aware of the figure he cut, but hadn’t ever been quite as gratified with its effect as he was under Stiles’ hungry gaze.

He slid his hand back over Stiles’ jaw, searching out the kid’s eyes again. Stiles’ mouth snapped shut when their eyes met, as if he hadn’t realized he’d practically been panting. Derek wanted to lick that blush all the way down his chest, but he had other things in mind.

“What do you want, Stiles?”

Stiles gave a self-effacing grin and a little shrug. “I have to pick? I mean, can I say _everything_ too? ‘Cause, I mean, hell yeah, I want _all_ of that. And then some. Seriously.”

And that was nowhere near what he was looking for. But if Stiles didn’t already know that, he’d find out soon enough. Derek just gave him a raised eyebrow and a small grin in reply.

“That right?” He pulled the belt off of Stiles’ pants. It was thick and canvas. Not ideal, but Derek was well trained in using the materials at his disposal to suit his needs, and it would serve just fine. He was slow in his movement, deliberate and unambiguous in the way he took Stiles’ arms and pushed them behind his back, folding his arms up so that he was holding his elbows before he wrapped the belt around the meaty flesh of both forearms, wrapping them hard enough to bite and tying it off securely before stepping back with a raised eyebrow.

“That a little too much _everything_ for you, kid?”

He knew it would spark up a little rebellious fire, was glad to see it flare up and burn out the wide-eyed lip-biting reaction. Stiles rolled his arms into a shrug, testing out the bind as he moved, coming back to life just a bit as he shook his head with a crooked grin.

Derek smirked right back and shoved him back with one hand so he tripped back and fell on the bed with a soft whump. He made quick work of Stiles' shoes and socks and then climbed up over the kid.  He was splayed out under under Derek, legs hanging down over the side, falling open as he slid a palm up a thigh and on to Stiles' cock, hard and twitching under his hand.

Derek ground his hand down, rubbing with his palm as he brought his face in close to Stiles’ and asked again, “What do you want, Stiles?”

Stiles was already getting desperate, his voice heady and half-lost as he pushed up against Derek’s hand. “ _Christ._  I want you to get your hands on my dick, okay? I want my pants fucking _off_ , I want _both_ our pants off and I want _more_ , Derek. Is that what you want to hear?”

Kid was starting to get that it wasn’t going to be simple. That merited a reply. “No, Stiles. That’s not what I want to hear. But you’re trying. I appreciate that.”

But he did what he asked, kicked off his clothes and shucked Stiles’ off as well, taking a moment to slot their legs together and rut, getting a small thrill out of the relief in Stile’s sigh, knowing how short-lived it would be.

“Not gonna let you come, Stiles, until you tell me what I want to hear.”

Stiles let out a little choked laugh. “Okay, fine then, _asshole_. How about you _tell_ me what you want to hear?”

Derek gave a couple long gliding thrusts before he stilled completely and raised off, dropping on to his side and taking Stiles’ dick in hand in a casual grip. “It’s simple. What do you _want_ , Stiles?”

Stiles groaned, equal amounts frustrated as hell and turned the fuck on, rocking his body as much as possible with his hands bound and back arched over his bound arms. He didn’t say anything, just lost himself to Derek’s touch until he was almost at the edge, tightening up, and Derek stopped, watching as he eased back down with a sobbing laugh.

“You _fucker_. I want to _come_ , okay? That’s what I want. I want to come all over your fucking _face_ , asshole.”

Derek grinned big at that. “Yeah?” He asked, feeling the devil in him, bright and hungry.

He leaned down and licked Stiles’ cock, working his way from root to tip, then laving the crown with the flat of his tongue until he could hear Stiles let out a tight gasp, taking him in his mouth, hand wrapped around the base, working the kid’s dick like a pro until Stiles was whining from it. He pulled away again, though, tugging down on his balls and making him loosen up again.

Stiles’ voice was bordering on the edge of broken when he finally spoke up again. “Shit, Derek, come on. Please, _please_ let me come. I can’t... I don’t know what you want, just... please.”

Derek’s voice was soft as he moved up Stiles’ side, turning him on his side to ease the strain on his arms. “It’s okay, Stiles. I know you’ll get there. Just a few words, kid. Just let it out. Tell me what you want.”

Stiles was nearly in tears, gritting his teeth as he leaned back against Derek and thrust into his grip again. “ _I don’t know_. I don’t know what I want, I just want... _fuck_ , I want you, I want you to _fuck me_ , I want to _suck you off_ , I want to be on my fucking _knees_ for you, Derek, just... _please_.”

Derek hummed happily in response, but kept to a casual stroke. “I like that Stiles, I really do. You have no idea what it does to me to hear you say that. But that’s not what I’m looking for. You know what I want to hear. It’s right there, right behind your teeth. You just need to let it out. _Tell me Stiles_.”

Derek pushed him close and backed down again, and one more time, until he really was in tears, begging and babbling nearly incoherently before he finally stopped and laid Stiles back down, climbing over him and gripping his chin, shaking his head a little so he’d focus.

Red-rimmed eyes locked on Derek in confusion and desperation, and Derek could taste how close he was. He smiled, warm and soft, and asked Stiles once again, “Just say it Stiles. Tell me what you want. It’s okay.”

His tears flowed hard and true as Stiles turned his eyes away and back. His answer was barely a whisper. _“Safe.”_

There it was.

He ran a hand over a tear soaked cheek. “What was that?”

Stiles finally looked back at Derek, brave and fearful but broken. “I want to be safe, _okay?_ That’s what I want. _I just want to be safe.”_

And there Stiles was, laid out before him, gutted and bare for the taking. Vulnerable and wide open, eyes wide and gasping for anything Derek would give to him.  There’d be a special corner of hell set aside for him, Derek knew that beyond a doubt. It wasn’t going to stop him from savoring this victory for the rest of his ill-deserved life.

He took Stiles’ mouth in a long, deep kiss, breaking off to lock eyes with the kid. “I’ve got you Stiles. It’s okay. I’m going to keep you safe, kid. I’m going to take care of you.”

It took little more than a couple gentle sucks before Stiles was coming so hard he was nearly convulsing, wrapping around Derek’s head and shoulders before falling back down on to the bed.

Stiles was shuddering and shivering as he came down, as Derek untied him and rubbed the feeling back into his arms. When Derek laid him back down and covered them both with a blanket, Stiles crawled into his arms like he wanted to wrap himself in Derek completely.

And Derek might never forgive himself for every broken promise he made, but that didn’t stop him from burying his face in the kid’s hair and whispering over and over again, until Stiles’ breathing eased into sleep. _“You’re safe. You’re safe with me. I’m going to keep you safe.”_

Derek was woken up some unforeseen number of hours later, sliding awake from a blue-black velvet sleep to the feel of Stiles nosing his way down to his crotch.

There was nothing subtle about it, nothing tentative in the way the kid ran a swirling tongue up his cock, and it took him by surprise enough that he could practically feel himself hardening along the slip and slide of that damned sinful tongue. It punched a small groan and a jerk of his hips out of Derek, and before he’d even caught his breath, Stiles had taken Derek into his mouth, tongue still swirling over him and sucking his brains out in a single stroke.

He came a short time later, he couldn’t exactly be sure how long it took, way too many embarrassing sounds and possibly only seconds after Stiles took Derek into his mouth. It hardly mattered. Taken down in a single stroke. Stiles pinned him while he was still dazed, one hand on his shoulder, body leaning in close but not quite touching, tongue fucking his mouth, feeding Derek back his own come and it had him shuddering.

Undone, taken apart and short of breath entirely, he watched Stiles leave, getting up with a cocky grin and slipping back into his clothes with a practiced ease, gone before Derek’s head stopped spinning.

_Cant’t tame a wolf_. He thought maybe he’d heard his grandfather say that once, but he couldn’t be too sure.

Maybe he could have been pissed off that Stiles took liberties and maybe he could have felt used for the way the kid walked out, but he wasn’t a fucking hypocrite. And who the hell was he to stand in the way when Stiles’ taking initiative provided these results?

Untamed. And it was more than Derek would have dreamed of asking for. Stiles’ fighting back, giving as good as he got because he was not one to be _broken_ , no sir. Maybe bruised from time to time, but not broken.

The sight of those bright eyes, _sparking_ with challenge.

It _liquified_ him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never, ever _ever_ count my boy out. Just sayin'.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Things had changed. And as far as he could figure, what had changed the most was that Stiles had given himself permission to be all in on this one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~~  
> connotes a change in POV

_Fuck Derek_. Seriously, fuck him and his mind games. Because, fronting aside, Stiles now _knew_ something. Derek had it bad. Derek hot-with-the-strength-of-a-thousand-suns Hale was _gone_ over Stiles. Which was a good thing because Stiles himself was _ghosted_ when Derek was around. Derek climbed into his head like _smoke_ , and the jackass could pretend it was just a role he had to play if that’s what got him through the night, but _that was a lie_. It was a lie, it was a lie.

Stiles had seen the light right after he pulled on his shirt and looked up to Derek’s smile. The guy was fucking _smitten_ , goofy grin lighting up his _whole damned face_. Didn’t mind Stiles being a cheeky little shit, fucking  _liked_ it.   _Was crushing on Stiles Stilinski._

So he was going to play this out, play it _for_ _real_ until Derek blinked and backed off. Until he skipped out and turned into a shadow, watching from behind a screen. Stiles was going to play it as it lay. Because as far as he was concerned, he was very much not done with Derek fucking Hale.

He didn’t even bother to make it home first, went straight from the Unholy Den of Iniquity that was Derek Hale’s nasty little bachelor pad back to the library. His suspicions rang true and they keycard got him in the all-night maintenance door. He _knew_ that keycard wouldn’t work for long, all of Derek’s best intentions aside, so he was going to take advantage of every minute he could get.

He scared the fuck out of the morning librarian, though, when she ran into him as he was going out, no doubt looking about as run down as a ghost. He’d taken care of some shit, though. He’d mined backdoors through any lockout protocol they might put on the card, set up proxy accounts and even changed his registry’s location so that it wouldn’t look like he was even posting from the same state.

If there was one thing his time rubbing elbows with the cities’ Least Likely to Succeed students taught him, it was how to drill holes into anything that looked airtight. Now, he was ready to start digging, and no one could stop him.

Thankfully, he missed his dad altogether when he got home and crawled into bed. This mid-morning bed time, it was getting to be a bad habit. If Stiles didn’t know himself any better, he’d be considering an intervention right about now.

Truth be told, though, he slept the sleep of kings. He’d liked to believe it was the sleep of the just. As if such a thing existed.

~~~

The next day Derek got a text, one line, _What you said? Hope you meant it, asshole_.

He texted back, _every word of it_. Hesitated before adding, _we shouldn’t text_.

There was a half-second delay before the reply came shooting back.

 _Right. As if my dad could dream of getting access to my texts. Relax. Not like he’s your boss anymore_.

There it was, that _used to be_ that had become some kind of code. The kid knew, then, that Deucalion was likely tapping his lines. So he was playing off the script they were expecting to hear.

Kind of impossible to resist playing back. _He may not be my boss but he still carries a loaded gun, kid._

He could physically feel himself blush at the reply. _Wanna check out *my* loaded gun?_

 _Go to fucking sleep, Stiles_. It was all he had. The kid hadn’t slept all night. Derek hadn’t either. Thankfully, he took Derek up on that advice, and Derek himself got enough rest to survive debriefing with Peter.

Peter was none too pleased with the turn of events. Apparently having to see Derek smile was _creepy_ and _unwelcome_. Derek hadn’t even realized he was doing it. And Peter went through the roof when Derek mentioned the access card.

“Just because he’s sucking your brains out through your dick doesn’t mean you _know_ him, Derek. You don’t.”

And didn’t that just put Derek’s back up. “No, I know him because of the extensive and cross-referenced file about him I was given. By you, if I recall correctly. I know him because I’ve met him and seen him operate under pressure, Peter. And you know he has a talent for research. He’s supposed to be working for us, isn’t he? So why don’t you let him do his job?”

Peter shook his head, looking down at his feet. “You don’t know what you’re doing, giving that sort of card to a kid with his skill set, Derek. I think you’re making a bad choice, here.”

“My asset. My call. Are we done here?”

Peter looked far from done, but he let it go.

The next time he got a text from Stiles, it was a few days later and it consisted of an address clear on the other end of town. Not a proper address, either, but a street corner. Derek was perplexed until the moment he got to the designated spot at the designated time and realized he was familiar with it. He was standing in front of the best taco truck in town. He took a small second to try and figure out how _Stiles_ knew about it, but then Derek realized he’d learnt about the spot from the local PD. It was far too easy for Derek to forget how many different ways their lives intersected.

It looked like Stiles was trying to shove an entire fist-sized carne-asada taco in his mouth at once. The kid he was standing with was staring at him with the amused slightly raised eyebrows of someone who had seen that show before. Derek guessed that was Scott, if the pictures in Stiles’ dossier were anything to go by.

Stiles lit up when he spotted Derek and waved him over. Scott was polite if slightly guarded, watching their exchanges carefully. Derek guessed he must have passed muster at some point because he patted Derek on the shoulder as he was leaving to get back to work.

Derek watched the crowds walking down the street as he finished his burrito, leaning in towards Stiles in between bites. “Any particular reason for this particular spot, Stiles?”

Stiles smiled wide and rested his head on Derek’s shoulder as he answered. “Scott works just down the street and he got just got some sort of massive internship-slash-scholarship, so I was taking him out to lunch to celebrate. Also, hello? Best tacos.”

Derek knew there was more as Stiles leaned forward a bit and practically only breathed the rest. “And you know cops. Worse than a sewing circle. If Duke wants independent confirmation regarding the state of our affairs, he’s got it now.”

Derek had been mostly ignoring the curious glances that had come their way, but Stiles must have known a few of those faces. “Not worried about your _dad_ finding out?”

Stiles shrugged a little, but it wasn’t convincing. “He’s the boss. He’s always the last to know.”

But Derek could read right through that, right into the uptick of the kid’s heartbeat at the mention of his dad. Stiles expected his dad would find out, too. Was upset about it, in fact, but too pragmatic with his survival plans to let it stop him. Derek couldn’t help but comfort, giving a small squeeze to the back of Stiles’ neck before freezing still and taking a closer look at the kid.

A flush had risen on his cheeks and he shifted slightly to let his soft cotton button-down hang open. And Derek had no idea how he’d managed to miss it before, but he was going to blame Stiles’ impressively athletic eating skills and unbelievably flexible mouth for that one.

Stiles was wearing a collar. A deep red, buttersoft leather dog collar hung somewhat loosely around his neck, tucked under his loose overshirt. Derek would have thought it was more of the same, more of the cocky kid thumbing his nose, but Stiles couldn’t hide the way he trembled slightly as he dropped a small padlock and key in Derek’s hand out of sight of the crowd milling around them. Derek wasn’t sure if he’d finished eating, but he didn’t really care, didn’t even throw out the leftovers, just pulled Stiles away, fist gripping the padlock in his other hand.

They only made it as far as his car, but they did manage to get inside before he pulled Stiles into a bruising kiss. When they came up for breath, Derek tightened the collar a little for good measure, making it snug up so that Stiles would feel it like a touch every time he moved, but stopped himself before he slipped the lock on.

 _This_ needed some sort of conversation, even if two thirds of his brain and his entire body thought not. “Stiles, this is... How far do you see this going?”

Stiles had a wicked gleam in his eye as he stretched his throat out into Derek’s hand. Derek hadn’t even realized it was there. If pressed he’d probably have to admit that he’d likely not taken his hand off Stiles’ throat except to get him in the car. But he managed to raise an eyebrow instead of devouring the kid. Made himself wait for a response.

“ _This_ is gonna go as far as you let it go, _Derek_. Until _you_ cry Uncle.”

And the kid was giving _him_ a safeword. Who was he kidding, he probably needed it more than Stiles did, anyway. He didn’t have to have strong math skills to run the numbers on the question of who was really in charge at this point. After all, if Stiles ran, Derek would follow, and all a body had to do was take a look at who was in front to figure out the dynamics in that scenario.

His augmented reflexes had kicked in the minute he’d registered the collar, and he could read Stiles _so_ clearly. Almost all of his newfound bravado was a bluff, the cocky swagger he was putting out, nothing but a mask. He _terrified_ himself every time he pulled shit like this with Derek. And turned himself on almost as much as Derek might have by reaching for Stiles’ dick.

Derek flashed on that first night, _Stiles punch-drunk and shocked, Derek pumping him fast and dirty, surrounded by a deafening beat and the smell of sex and alcohol while Stiles’ quiet 'ah's puffed into his ear_.

Things had _changed_. And as far as he could figure, what had changed the most was that Stiles had given himself permission to be all in on this one. And as he watched Stiles press his neck into Derek’s grip, watched his own shaking hand snap the little padlock on the clasp and attach the little key to his own keychain, he started to give in to the suspicion that he was entirely and completely fucked on this one.

But then again, he was smiling. Again.

And as he squeezed Stiles into a rock-hard mess before he started the car, he couldn’t find it in himself to regret a single ounce of it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Don’t really care about_ your _kinks right now, Stiles. Now, if you don’t shut up, I’m gagging you. With your own underwear.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't going to leave you on another sex-cliffhanger. A sex-hanger. Anyway, here's some more dirty stuff.

It lasted through the car ride, his little moment of bliss. Until something far colder and much more hungry welled up and took over. If Stiles wanted the collar, fine. But Derek was of a mind to make him earn it.

He spun around on Stiles the minute the door closed behind them, pushed him hard against it, hand snaking into the collar, tightening it up enough that he could feel the kid working to swallow. Derek leaned in close, leaned against him as he ran a delicate nose along the length of his throat.

He pulled away a little, close in on Stile’s face when he asked, “What are you up to, playing this game, kid?” When Stiles looked to be thinking about an answer, he added, “And don’t think I can’t tell if you lie.”

Stiles rolled his eyes in exasperation and gasped when Derek finally let go of the collar before coughing out an answer. “Come on, Derek. You know this works. I’m not the only one here who’s into this.”

Derek spun him around and pressed him up to the door, pulling out a pair of cuffs. Because he kept them close to the door. Or at least, he did when he started having ideas about how to use them. So, maybe Stiles wasn’t the only one who was prepared to use props.

Stiles’ response was captivating. He was _vulnerable_ when he spoke. “You know, I don’t really have a cop kink. I mean the pushing me around, the cuffs... don’t get me wrong, it’s hot, but–”

He gave out a small yell as Derek kicked his legs apart and pinned Stiles by the neck to the wall. Derek leaned in, slow and showing lots of teeth in his grin.

“Don’t really care about _your_ kinks right now, Stiles. Now, if you don’t shut up, I’m gagging you. With your own underwear.”

Stiles eye’s widened as he bit his bottom lip and nodded, half his face rubbing on the door he was pressed against. Derek pulled Stiles’ shirt off and down to bunch up with the cuffs and Stiles _gripped_ the fabric the minute it hit his hands. Derek stood close enough that Stiles could feel the heat coming off his body, and Stiles immediately leaned in towards him, tucking his head against Derek’s shoulder.

Derek tilted his head up and kissed him, explored his mouth carefully, methodically, let Stiles lose himself in that for a moment before Derek lightly pressed his forehead back against the wall again. Stiles let out a stuttered breath before nodding and loosening into the stance. Derek traced a light hand up Stiles’ spine, delighting in the shiver and goosebumps that trailed his touch and the way his back arched and bowed as Stiles kept his forehead pressed against the wall.

He let his hand slide around, savoring the feel of Stiles tightening up under his hand even while he pushed into Derek’s touch. He slid down into the gap between pants and sucked-in belly and wrapped right around Stiles’ dick like his hand belonged there.

Stiles whimpered, unable to speak, unable to move, with his forehead pressed against the wall and legs splayed wide, unable to use his hands. He played with Stiles’ dick for a minute or two, just squeezed and stroked, listening to the puffs of breath that were shaped almost like words coming out before he finally pulled back and away.

He let the sound of his own belt coming off cut through the heavy silence. “I asked you a question, by the way. Do we really need to go through this again, Stiles? I’m not really in the mood to dick around, but I will pull it out of you the hard way, if you want me to. So, once again. Why the collar, Stiles?”

Stiles’ gasping voice sounded like it was coming from the inside of a well. “Hold on, hold on, Derek. Please give me a chance, here. Please. I’d like to come more than once tonight.”

Derek leaned back a bit, gave Stiles a minute to dig for some deeper truth. He could tell he was getting something genuine from the tremor, the smallness in his voice.

“It’s. I don’t have to think, ok? When I’m around you I _can’t_ think, and you don’t even know, it’s like some kind of high. When I’m around you I don’t think, I can just _be_ and you have no idea how... And I know you’re not going to hurt me. And you make me come... you make me come like fucking _wildfire_ , Derek. I just want to be yours, for however long I can.”

Derek leaned back in. “That was a good answer, kid. But I never promised not to hurt you.” He let the leather of the belt drag along Stile’s back.

Stiles let out a whine as he barely kept himself from squirming. “This isn’t _hurt_ , Derek. Something that makes me come this hard... I just can’t call that hurt.”

Derek felt is own voice soften into velvet. “You want this, don’t you?”

Stiles gasped again, “Yeah. Yeah. I want this Derek. I want all of it. _Please_.”

Derek let out a small chuckle. “I’m going to make sure you feel me for _days_ , Stiles. You’ll think of me every time you try to sit down.”

He pulled Stiles back by his collar and cuffs, dropping him over the back of the couch. He stripped the kid with economy of motion, left him shivering, ass in the air and head in the cushions before he started warming the kid up with solid welts on his ass. A short way in, he took the cuff off of one of Stiles' hands, leading it forward on to his cock. “Jack yourself. Make yourself come. You said you wanted to come more that once tonight, didn’t you?”

He wasn’t sure what Stiles’ garbled reply meant, but he was working himself fiercely as Derek laid in to him again, keeping his strokes light and full of sting. It didn’t take long at all before Stiles stuttered out a groan and came down the back of the couch. It thrilled Derek, in a sick little way, knowing that no matter how he cleaned it, that couch was going to smell like their filth.

He took up some of the come and smeared it down the kid’s crack, adding his spit and making things slick and dirty before he slipped his own cock along Stiles’ crack and between his legs. He dug his hands in to the flesh of the kid’s ass, kneading his stinging skin obscenely, pulling him open and squeezing him shut as he fucked up against the back of Stile’s balls and his spent cock.

Stiles didn’t stay soft for long, squeezing tight and thrusting back by the time Derek came, pulsing hot and wet all along Stiles’ softest bits. Derek didn’t pull away, leaned forward instead, taking Stile’s cock in his own hand, rubbing his thumb over the head and along the slit, breathing in his surprised gasp. He just had to rumble _come_ into Stile’s ear to have him pouring out into his hand.

Derek picked Stiles up and walked him to his room, pulling the shirt off the cuffs but re-stringing Stiles up, this time attaching the cuffs to a hook in the wall at the head of the bed. The location of the hook was no coincidence, it came as a consequence of thinking about the uses of the cuffs. And his idea worked perfectly, as Stiles lay stretched out on his back and pale, naked except for that beautiful collar.

Stiles was squirming, already getting hard again. The luxury of being a teenager, Derek supposed, and he intended on taking full advantage of it. “Gonna make you come until you can’t come any more, Stiles. And then I’m going to spend _hours_ inside of you before I come.”

True to his word, the kid was a mess by the time Derek eased his way in. He left Stiles on his back, slid in holding his legs up against Derek's chest and set an easy pace, drinking in the sight below him, Stiles’ tear-stained face, angry-red and flaccid cock lying in a mess of jizz that trickled in a little rivulet down the curve of his hip.

He was half awake but still moving, sensuous rolls of his hips complementing Derek’s own movements, taking Derek deeper and rocking on him as if to just enjoy the feel of his cock inside. He was past words, head resting on one arm, mouth perpetually open on one _oh_ after another.

And Derek took his time, rocking into Stiles until Stiles was begging, legs splayed open with his knees resting in the crooks of Derek’s elbows, still mostly soft but begging. He didn’t even know what he was begging _for_ , exactly, just _more_ and _Derek_.

Derek didn’t last as long as he might have, but who could blame him, with _that_ sight under him. He pulled out right before he blew, unable to resist adding his own mess to the drying come on Stiles’ belly, watching the kid’s soft cock jump slightly when a hot spray of come hit it.

There wasn’t much left of Stiles as Derek finally removed the cuffs and rubbed the blood back into his arms. He could barely walk as Derek pulled him to the bathroom while he walked backwards, one hand on his waist and the other on his collar.

Stiles was boneless even as Derek washed him down, leaning into Derek’s hands everywhere he touched, like he wanted to climb right under Derek’s skin. He passed out into a little ball in an armchair as Derek changed the sheets. They were already getting into a habit with these things.

It was practically domestic, really, and Derek thought this should terrify him completely, but when he pulled Stiles into the bed and wrapped himself around Stiles’ back, holding him fast and sure in his arms, it felt right enough that Derek couldn’t be bothered with reality.

He listened to Stiles’ breath move into sleep, let it pull him down as well and gave up on thinking that this was going to bring him nothing but regrets.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He wanted to tell his dad the truth. Well, not about the welts on his ass or all the orgasms..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~~ connotes change in POV

_For once_ , neither woke the other with surprise attacks. For once, both of them slept through the night and woke up calm. It was something of a novelty. And it was  _nice_ , not waking up after fear-filled dreams with a feeling like the ground had dropped out from under him, like he had just about skated past a nightmare on his way up, like he felt most nights he didn’t take _something_ to numb the panic.  He was going to hold on to that feeling for a while, if he could.

Derek was sleeping on his stomach, one arm curled over Stile’s back and Stiles didn’t even hesitate before snuggling back up against the man. It felt too good, and he thought maybe he’d earned a squishy feeling or two. Derek didn’t seem to mind, letting out a soft grunt and pulling Stiles snug up against him, turning his face and burying his nose in Stiles’ hair.

He came awake completely when Derek’s hand stroked over the still-fresh marks on his ass. His own _squeak_ woke him up. He _ached_ , though. Just about everywhere. His ass and thighs were still tender, skin feeling raw like a sun burn, but that wasn’t exactly what he’d call a _bad_ thing.

Derek pinned him down and rubbed ointment into the welts anyway, finishing him off with a slow and easy blow job. Then he lay back and let Stiles _touch_ , let him run his hands over every inch he could reach, let Stiles stroke him steadily, watching every inch of him until he came with a quiet gasp.

They had instant coffee in old mugs in bed and Stiles left, easy as you please, hopping on the bus home, surrounded by morning commuters. He felt calm and ready and like he better keep his eyes open ‘cause he had a feeling something was coming down the pike.

It stood to reason. Deucalion did not approve of what Stiles was doing with Derek. Was likely just waiting for this thing to fall apart on its own, like all the rest of Stiles’ short-lived bad ideas. But Stiles knew Duke wasn’t a patient man. And this thing he had going on with Derek? Didn’t feel like a bad idea.

He was lost in thought, plotting out how he was going to use the research time he’d appropriated as he made his way into his house. Was stopped short in the hallway by the sound of his dad clearing his throat. _Should_ have seen it coming, but he’d been known to have his head up his ass from time to time.

As it was, he felt his whole body flood with a panicked rush before he turned and walked back to where his dad was, eating breakfast, sitting at the kitchen table. He motioned Stiles to sit across from him. Stiles hadn’t buttoned up his top shirt, so it was impossible for his dad to miss the collar. And by the look on his face, he caught Stiles’ wince when he sat down, too.

His dad cleared his throat and started in without hesitation. “I’ve been hearing things, son. I have to wonder if you have a clue what the hell you’re getting yourself into. If you realize what the man you’re... sleeping with–”

“ _Who_ , dad.” Stiles surprised himself with how steady his voice sounded. When his dad raised an eyebrow, Stiles kept going. “You wonder if I know _who_ the man I’m sleeping with is. And I’m going to answer yes. But I also have to say that there’s such a thing as plausible deniability for _you_ dad. You’re an elected official, and sometimes there’s things you’re just better off not knowing.” Likely story, at any rate.

His dad jumped back in, “ _Dangerous_ , Stiles. He’s a dangerous man.”

Stiles sniffed a small laugh. “Funny. The only people I ever hear that from are people who have never met him.”

But his dad’s eyebrows were having none of that. “I don’t _need_ to have met him, Stiles. I’ve met _plenty_ of enhanced personnel, and I can tell you _for a fact_ that they don’t just break down like... that. What happened in that bank–”

“They were drugged, dad. By the niece of a senator. Now do you see what I mean about plausible deniability?” And he even had details like these to back up the ‘Dad Should Stay Out of It’ campaign.

He wanted to tell his dad the truth. Well, not about the welts on his ass or all the orgasms, but about the DEA and the fact that Derek was, indeed, not entirely stable but was also still on active duty. But there was no way in hell he could do that without getting his dad into mess he really didn’t need to be a part of.

So the most he was going to do was use words like _plausible deniability_ in the interest of laying down some groundwork for a later discussion. The less he knew, the better, at least for the time being. It was that simple.

“Listen, Dad, there’s a lot of stuff I’m not going to talk about here. The important thing you need to know is that I’m fine, okay?”

And it hit Stiles like a ton of bricks. What he just said was completely true. _He was fine._ The world was falling the fuck apart around his ears, but he was okay.

“I’m fine.” Because a truth like that bared repeating.

His dad shook his head but sat back, letting it drop. “You going to bed?” The Sheriff’s voice was dripping with disdain, and Stiles just couldn’t resist beaming a smile in return.

Shaking his head, he answered, “Nah. Just gonna shower and get something to eat before I go to the library.”

That had the intended effect, and Stiles ducked out at his dad’s slightly stunned reaction. He meant it, though. It was exactly what he was going to do. He’d slept better last night than he had since his mom...

And he was keeping his investigations to his regular study hours, putting in token schoolwork before devoting himself to that beautiful research machine he had, so he needed to get back to a regular schedule.

A texted message before he jumped in the shower had him remembering that he needed to make time for Deucalion’s demands as well. The man had scheduled a run for him. Nothing unusual, just part of the routine. Now that he had a chance of making it stop, it seemed like a much bigger thing. But Derek would be watching him every step of the way, and that counted for something.

~~~

Derek watched Stiles enter into a morning routine that had become familiar to him back when they were still casing him. He watched him head to the library and headed in to the office himself, since Peter was being a little bitch about giving Derek a new access card, so he had to go in himself, which meant he had to take the back way in through a mess of blind alleys and backtracks to make sure he wasn’t being monitored before he checked in behind the screened doors.

It wasn’t unheard of, that Derek had given Stiles his own temporary access card. Because they didn’t trust him with _permanent_ access to anything, not even all these years later, likely never would give him anything close to permanent numbers or access cards. He was like a ghost, assigned a number with every new case he took.

Peter had evaded the stigma the bank attack carried by virtue of being in the vehicle at the time, even though he had pretty much ripped it apart from the inside out before they managed to trank him down.

Peter, though, had managed in the following years to make himself necessary and important in the bureau, dragging Derek with him everywhere he went. The implication was that Peter kept Derek on a short leash. Derek hadn’t really minded it, figured in some ways he was letting Peter do all the heavy lifting, dealing with the bullshit admin and constantly having to prove yourself worthy and whatever. Peter just got him work.

Hadn’t really ever thought much of it, in fact, until the moment he got past the screened doors and looked around at the cubicle section of the office. Straight at Peter, with young a new recruit by his side.

Scott McCall.

That Peter was bringing in a new recruit wasn’t unheard of.  He was a damned good handler, and he tended to bring in quality people. That he was the one running McCall's orientation before handing him over for training was pro forma. That it should be someone as young as McCall was actually not uncommon either.

The process of becoming enhanced was challenging, and worked better while the mind was flexible, so this type of offer to someone just past the cusp of puberty was common. Scott would intern for a few years while beginning to go through the enhancement process. The Bureau would pay for his entire education after that, with a pre-arranged contract for service following his degree.

Contrary to popular belief, the Bureau had a lot of uses for people with enhanced capabilities in lab and medical settings.  It was still one hell of a deal, and not one that was made lightly or often. Scott would not have gotten this far if he had not shown himself to be a good candidate for enhancement.

Whether he had the scientific acumen to actually get all the way through med school was relatively irrelevant, the Bureau would get him back regardless, and any level of scientific background he carried would be put to good use.

He bet Scott got one hell of a soft sell, open-door, leave-any-time-you-feel-like-it pitch. What the enhancement did to you, though. It kind of made it so that you never would _feel_ like leaving. They didn’t tend to mention that to the recruits. They’d figure it out soon enough on their own.

But Scott McCall? Was no coincidence. And the screening process would have taken more than a few days. Which means that Peter likely had Scott McCall lined up for this _before_ Derek and Stiles had started fucking, but didn’t reel Scott in until Derek had given Stiles his access.

But Scott McCall had little to no bearing on Derek himself. McCall was all about Stiles. A way to control Stiles? _What did Peter think Stiles was capable of?_

And regardless, even if Derek had absolutely no control over him, Stiles was in their corner. He was on Derek’s side, which was the plan. Which Derek had _thought_ was the plan based on a dossier released to him. Which had been written by Peter.

Peter’s words raced through his head as they locked eyes. _“Just because he’s sucking your brains out through your dick doesn’t mean you know him, Derek. You don’t.”_

His smile was soft and easy as he bent to say something to Scott and pointed Derek out. Scott looked up and beamed at him with a small wave. 

Derek had to make measured counts of every step he made and every breath he took in order to stay in that building, stay calm, and sweet-talk Rose into giving him a new card without having to pass it through a fucking committee. He forced himself to leave slowly, touch base with people he’d been meaning to catch up with before he dove back into the maze letting him back out into the world.

In which he could pretend not to be a glorified puppet.

He needed to be the one to talk to Stiles about this, but couldn’t meet up until after he made a drop that night. It gave him plenty of time to go to his favorite gym and spar with anyone who wanted in. He had a lot of thinking he needed to do and sometimes it helped to beat the shit out of people while he did that.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He was pretty sure he knew what Derek wanted to talk about and he really hoped the man would be willing to table that one for a little while because he was kind of freaking the fuck out, and even though he could navigate from the hallway out the door of the building, he didn’t exactly know how he should be feeling about it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for: non-consensual accidental drugging and flashbacks  
> There is no sex in this chapter. There is a fuckton of angst, and our boys dealing with that to the best of their abilities.  
> I can say this chapter is trigger-y, in particular to people who have a history of drug use (see end notes).  
> If anyone wants any other warnings either here or in the tags, let me know.

Stiles washed his face in the dingy bathroom a floor above a gambling den and debated canceling on Derek. He looked worn out and a little on this side of fucked up, but then, he had no clue _what_ his whole back had been coated in after the bastards sent him on a run with a leaky bundle.

The guys picking the shit up didn’t even seem to really care about the fact that their fucking bag of dope had exploded like a baby-powder factory, either. Sure, they bitched, but not about how much the missing ounce down his back was going to cost them.

They had to get gloves to take the bag. Bitched about how they weren’t gonna get that shit on them. Ignored the fact that he was wearing it down his back and kicked him the fuck out. Didn’t even want him using the bathroom, but finally took pity on him. He gripped on the edge of the tiny corner sink hard and willed himself to clear out his mind.

He was closer to Derek’s than his house.

He also was pretty sure he didn’t want to contaminate the house his dad lived in with whatever-it-was narcotic he was wearing down his back.

Derek had asked him to come by that night. He was pretty sure he knew what Derek wanted to talk about and he really hoped the man would be willing to table that one for a little while because he was kind of freaking the fuck out, and even though he could navigate from the hallway out the door of the building, he didn’t exactly know how he should be feeling about it.

As in, he was feeling like he didn’t know if he wanted to cry or scream or punch someone or punch himself. It seemed extreme, but he couldn’t remember how it was people felt _less_ , for the moment, so he was going to assume that he was seriously fucked up. He made his way out the door and down the street with all the grace of a crazed hobo, holding his destination forefront on his mind, trying as hard as hell not to let _anything_ distract him from his intended goal.

Derek had him pinned to a wall before the door closed. And there was nothing touchy about it. Nothing nice. He was pissed as fuck, sucking air in through teeth that looked sharpened.

“What the fuck have you been _doing_ , Stiles?”

And whoa, that seemed odd. Derek’s voice wasn’t entirely familiar. There was a feral shine in his eye and he was speaking through a clenched jaw. He didn’t even look like he was entirely in the room they were standing in.

But Stiles had his _own_ feelings to contend with. And they were stupid big. “What do you mean where the fuck have I been? Haven’t you been _watching_ , Derek? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to be doing? You _promised_ , didn’t you? To keep me safe?”

Something about that broke through whatever fog Derek was lost in. He shook his head a little and took a couple steps back. “You been sampling the goods, Stiles?”

Stiles pushed off the wall and turned around. “More like _wearing_ the–”

A hard shove had him sprawling against the wall and then the ground, and Stiles would have had the wherewithal to feel abused by it all if he hadn’t been so intent on the sound of Derek’s feet, hitting the ground hard and moving fast, followed by a door slamming shut.

And, a moment later, locking.

The noises he heard after... for a minute he was rolled tight like a pillbug, thinking there was some sort of scream growing in an anguished pitch coming from the other room. Until he realized that, no, it was _furniture_ being moved. Stiles was guessing there was now an entire chest of drawers in front of whatever door Derek had barricaded himself in. Behind.

Stiles uncurled himself and shook himself out a little. He knew he was in no shape to be dealing with anything, but he’d helped Scott down after they’d both taken bad acid, so at least he had prior experience in calming other people down while you quietly freaked out as much as they did. And hell, when must needs, you figure out how to keep your shit together.

Derek had locked himself in his room. Stiles could thank all the gods for the fact that it wasn’t the bathroom so he still had the ability to wash this shit off and the continued grace not to have to take a piss in the kitchen sink. He paused in front of the wall next to his bedroom door.

“I’m gonna wash this off, Derek. But then we’re gonna have to talk.”

There was a pause and a shuffle before Derek answered. “You need to go, Stiles. You should go.”

Stiles snorted his response. “Nah. Thanks, not my style to leave my friends barricaded in their own rooms. Trust me Derek, whatever you’re thinking, leaving you alone isn’t going to help you any.”

Stiles could hear the snarl even from behind the wall. “I’m _thinking_ your blood would taste really good right about now. You should go.”

Stiles snorted again. He’d heard how hard Derek had to work to block himself in. He wasn’t getting out quietly or quickly enough that Stiles wouldn’t be able to get away. “Whatever, asshole. Shower. Do I need to use anything special to get rid of this shit? Because it’s everywhere, and it needs to go.”

Derek sounded genuinely confounded when he answered. “Shampoo. Gets it off better.”

Stiles felt marginally better after washing off what hadn’t already been absorbed through his pores. Felt clear-headed enough to figure that at least he’d ridden out the initial rush. He got rid of all his clothes, even if that left him wearing nothing but a bathroom towel, double bagging them with all the paper towels he’d used to wipe down the wall Derek had smeared him on as well. His impression, even trace amounts could set Derek off, so he took care to scrub the walls thoroughly, even if it fucked up the paint.

He didn’t have to be a bioengineer to figure that this shit hit enhanced people harder than mere mortals. When it was done and the trash bag was sitting outside the front door, he came back to sit against the wall next to the bedroom. The walls were thin. They’d have no problem talking.

“The place is clean, if that’s what you were worried about.”

Surprisingly, Derek deigned to answer. “Got too much already. But thanks.”

“Hey, you’re a drug agent, right? Can you tell me what the fuck that was?”

Derek groaned a little, the sound of a shove and a stretch brought him up against the wall they were sharing. It sounded like he was getting comfortable. Stiles was going to take that as a good sign.

“It’s not for you, not a street thing, not for _humans_ , but it will mess you up some. This is medical. To trank enhanced personnel. They inject it. But when it’s powder it’s not enough, you don’t absorb it properly. It crawls right into your brain and makes you want to be... I don’t know. Animal. Something with sharp teeth. But scared, too. And angry.”

Thoughts were crashing like boulders through his brain and he couldn’t make himself think clearly enough to process any of it. He’d been wearing... He’d been _bathed_ in...

Something had loosened in Derek. He kept talking. “Kate, she used to... Sometimes, she’d make me snort it, and then... That was... That was why I didn’t freak, later. Why it didn’t work on me. At the bank.”

Everything in Stiles’ mind froze. The bank. Where the walls were so riddled with bullets that no one could figure out which particular gun killed which particular individual. They’d covered Stiles in the same shit Kate Argent used on Derek’s team. To cause a room full of armed and twitchy enhanced agents have a collective psychotic break.

There was no way that was intended just to fuck with him or to teach him a lesson. It was to get him killed. Or, knowing Deucalion, likely this was more of a _let’s run it up a flagploe, see if anyone ends up dead_ tactic. And so _not_ what he needed to be thinking about at the moment.

“You said it didn’t work on you? You didn’t freak?” Because that was what they needed to focus on.

The answer was oddly small. “Not like I could have. I kept my head down and tried to stay calm. Knew I’d have to ride it out. I’d been there before. They... They didn’t know but they wouldn’t listen, they wouldn’t...”

Stiles swallowed everything he was feeling, took it inside of himself and let it build a white hot rage. Sent it somewhere deep down and away. “Derek? You need to listen to me right now, okay? You’re feeling a lot of crazy and intense shit right now, I understand that. But you need to remember that you’re pretty fucked up right now, too. So, just remember. That was then. That is not right now. Right now, you’re okay. Everything’s okay and you’re talking to a half-naked sex-god in the other side of this wall, got me?”

There was a soft snuffle. It sounded like Derek was pressing his face right up against the wall. “You smell good.”

“Good enough for you to come out that door?”

“No.” Derek sounded downright petulant.

Stiles sighed, but had figured as much to begin with. “Then keep talking okay? I need to hear your voice. Know you’re okay.”

“What should I say?”

Stiles threw his hands up for no one to see. “Whatever. Tell me about your favorite toy when you were a kid.”

The silence that followed was odd. _Bigger_ , somehow than the others. “I don’t remember much.”

Stiles let out a tiny _oh_ , but had nothing else. Derek kept talking. “It’s part of the process. The enhancement. They have to take up space in your brain. You lose stuff. Mostly memories.”

The world was starting to spin in panic and he couldn’t hold back his next question. “Scott. Is that what he– I mean, is that what–”

He’d forgotten for a moment what he had and hadn’t shared. Derek remembered, apparently. “You know.”

Stiles nodded before he realized Derek couldn’t see that. But apparently, it was loud enough to be heard. Or assumed.  

Derek's voice was starting to sound decidedly more focused.  “Your best friend gets a job offer from the DEA and you neglect to mention this.”

Stiles nodded again, bit his lip to keep himself from sobbing for making Derek mad (and it couldn’t be a second too soon for the shit he was riding to wear off). Tried to keep his voice level. “DEA letterhead, Derek. You think Scott _wouldn’t_ tell me? I was trying to figure out why you weren’t talking about it. Until I was sure you didn’t know.”

Derek’s voice was quiet, like he was _getting_ something. “At the taco stand.”

“Yep.” Stiles popped the p on it, but didn’t elaborate.

Derek didn’t need help with that anyway. “They key?”

Yeah, he got pretty much the whole picture, there. “I wasn’t going to give it to you if I thought. If you.”

“So why didn’t you tell me?”

“...easily distracted?”

“Stiles, I swear–” It was about all he had to say for Stiles to have some massive pavlovian response that rendered him incapable of both withholding the truth and _not_ getting rock hard.

“Okay, okay, but it’s not pretty and I’m probably going to piss you off so maybe we could talk about this later?”

_“Stiles.”_

Shit. He was fucking _leaking_ , picturing Derek saying his name through gritted teeth, determined glare in his eyes. He had to cover his own face to talk. “ _Fine_ , Derek. I was trying to figure out why Peter hadn’t told you. I was waiting to see when he’d tell you, figured that might give me a clue about what he was pulling. But the offer _is_ legit, Scott even had his dad look into it. And he hates his dad. Pretty sure no one mentioned _memory problems_ , though.”

“It’s not... For the Full Augmentation, it gets bad. The more stuff you have added, the more stuff you loose. But you can keep your family around if you want. They can help you put things back into perspective. At least, that’s how it can work.”

Stiles felt like an asshole for stepping into the ache he could hear, but couldn’t back down. “But for you?”

Stiles was sinking into the silence that followed. He swore the cheap linoleum he was sitting on was sagging with the weight of the silence Derek was radiating.

Derek sounded small and really, really lost when he finally answered. He sounded like maybe he’d been crying. “I had Kate. When I was going through it. I thought that was all that I needed. She _felt_ like she was all that I needed. It kept things simple. My life was discipline. Made me good at my job until... it didn’t.”

Stiles felt far away, completely immersed in Derek’s story. “And after? With your family? Did you try?”

Another long silence and dredged up piece. “It’s not like you’re suppressing something, Stiles. It’s just _not there._ Sometimes you can remember their smell, _maybe_. But if they weren’t there with you _from the beginning_ , they just _aren’t there_ anymore. In your brain. So when you see them, and you know you should feel... you should feel something... and you don’t. It makes you feel... empty. And I couldn’t...

“After the... After. They said I was _broken_. Said I shouldn’t push too hard. I just focused on the job, the mission. Just kept busy so I didn’t have to think too hard. It’s not exactly _hard_ , playing a drug addicted ex-cop.”

“ _Who_ said you shouldn’t push too hard, Derek? Peter?”

Surprisingly, Stiles didn’t have to see it to catch Derek’s nod, either. He kept going when it was clear Derek wasn’t going to elaborate. “Drugs, Derek?”

Derek laughed out a snort. “ _Enhanced_ , Stiles. Between the healing factor and the denser muscle mass _alone_ I have to take about three different steroids a month. And shit to keep _that_ rage-fest under control. And to keep my fucking _heart_ from exploding from all those other drugs.

“On the street level, if you’re not Law and you’re Fully Augmented, it’s likely you’re a junkie of some kind. Just to keep your shit level. They offer _methadone_ , free of charge. _For life_ to retired Fully Augmented government personnel. But if you’re active duty, they keep you on the decent drugs, free of charge, even if all you have is a desk job. That’s why we tend to stick around.”

So many things wrong with... Stiles was just going to have to sit with how fucking _sucky_ Derek’s life was for a minute. It explained the decor. Derek didn’t really give too many fucks about much of anything. Who could blame him.

“Damn, dude. You don’t know how bad I wish I could give you a hug, there, Derek. It’s killing me that I can’t. Seriously. Derek. You’re killing a sex god out here. Any chance you’re gonna open that door? I need some clothes before I can leave.”

There was the sound of and aborted movement and a thoughtful pause before Derek answered. “Okay. Okay, just. No sex.”

Stiles bit the inside of this cheek, nearly smacking his head into the wall. _Kate_ and _sex_ with this drug. Did he need that written in large print? What the hell was he doing making jokes about being a naked sex god?

He didn’t bother to hide his own shocked gasp. “Holy shit, Derek, I’m sorry, I should have thought...”

But Derek just laughed softly. “I appreciated the joke, Stiles. And thinking of you half naked is never a bad thing. Just. I don’t want to... _do_ anything when I’m fucked up like this. Just someone to smell and hold on to.”

Stiles felt his own grin like a relief. “Hey, man, the Stilinski hugs are _legendary_. I am totally down with that.”

He heard another soft movement before Derek spoke again. “I think. I think the stuff’s wearing down. I think you’d be safe now.”

The furniture moving back didn’t sound half as bad. Stiles was in Derek’s arms the second the door opened. Derek absorbed the impact with a soft _oof_ and wrapped himself around Stiles as well. Stiles held on for a good few breaths before disentangling and digging through Derek’s drawers for a pair of old sweat pants and a shirt, throwing himself stumbling back over towards Derek even when he was still half-stuck in the shirt.

Derek caught him and straightened him out, pulling the shirt down, thumbs resting against the collar as they so often did. Just rested there for a moment before Derek reeled him in. They lay down in a nest of blankets on the bed, starting up what Stiles could only call a bout of aggressive cuddling.

There was... a lot to talk about. But it could wait. The world was burning down around their ears.  And Stiles felt perfectly calm.  It could wait. His anger was something cold, now.  Precise and unhurried.  He was known to be a spiteful bitch, and he had some kind of mayhem on his mind, now.  

But it could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert trigger warning:  
> I can say this chapter is trigger-y, in particular to people who have a history of drug use because both characters are trying to talk their way through a bad drug experience, waiting for the high to wear down and trying to keep stringing words together until the worst of it wears off. If you have a history of drug use, this sort of event might sound familiar. If you have a traumatic history with drug use, this chapter might be a hard one for you, but I can assure you that our boys will be on their best behavior.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Sorry to interrupt whatever fun times the two of you had going here, but I just couldn’t help but wonder why the fuck your boss is laying odds on finding a murder-suicide happening here.”_

Stiles woke to an empty bed.

That wasn’t what woke him up. What woke him up was the vague pressure that came of being watched by someone fuming with intensity. The bed was empty but he was definitely not alone. Derek was sitting in the armchair, glowering so fiercely that Stiles could feel it like a physical weight.

He was foggy brained, heavy and slow from the aftereffects of the stuff he’d been doused with, and he could swear without a single doubt that the last thing he was capable of dealing with was whatever problem Derek seemed to have developed overnight. He was sitting pressed against the wall at the head of the bed before he’d registered moving, braced for Derek to close in for the kill.

Stiles raised his chin defiantly. “ _What_ , Derek? Just say it.”

Derek tucked his chin down in response, glower looking no less intimidating for it. “You really have no clue how close you came to getting ripped apart last night, do you?”

Stiles raised his arms, palms up, gesturing to himself in response. “Considering how _not_ dead I am, that’s kind of a moot point isn’t it?”

But Derek was already shaking his head, jaw clenched so tight his tendons were standing out. “No, not fucking _moot_ , Stiles. Very much the point. You’re not dead _this time_. But you don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re playing at.”

Stiles sniffed defensively in response. “Really? _No clue_ , Derek? Is that what you’re going with? Because I have one hell of a data set that would beg to differ with you on that. And a chest of drawers that made a pretty compelling argument against that last night, too, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Yes, really, _Stiles_. You think that if I’d gotten it in my head to get my hands on you that any piece of furniture could have stopped me?”

Stiles shrugged, “It would have slowed you down enough that I could get away.” He hated how petulant it sounded. But in the cold light of day even he had to admit that the argument was starting to sound a little hollow.

Derek sniffed out a little laugh. “You think some furniture and a door would have stopped me, Stiles? I could have just punched through the wall. Do you think you would have even made it outside?” Stiles answered with a glare of his own and Derek laughed again. “See, _that_ is exactly what I’m talking about. I’m an idiot for playing along with your games. This whole thing is a fucking joke. I’m gonna wind up getting you killed or killing you myself. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, letting you put that collar–”

“So are you backing out? Are you done? Is that what you’re saying?”

Stiles would have liked to keep the rasp out of his voice as much as he would have liked to have kept the tears down, but he was kind of at the end of his rope. It was exactly how he felt, grip slipping, chasm open below him and he could practically see the fall he was about to take. He wanted to beg, to fall on his knees and plead for Derek to take it all back, but he didn’t. He was going to pretend he had an ounce of pride left to salvage.

Held himself still. Made himself look at Derek square in the eye. And when Derek looked back, just a touch apologetic, just a little hesitant like somehow he’d forgotten how his words might hit Stiles, just a little bit of pity creasing his forehead, Stiles was struck nearly blind with a sharp wave of anger. He’d forgotten what betrayal felt like. This was Scott jumping Lydia, only a hundred times worse, and it made him want to knife things. Because he hadn’t just trusted Derek with some tender unrequited feeling, he’d trusted Derek with his... _everything_.

His voice was colder than he’d expected, and it seemed to hit Derek physically, draining the blood from his face in increments with every word Sties said. “This is what your promises look like, then? This is you _taking care of me_? You gonna keep me safe by cutting and running every fucking time things get uncomfortable, Derek? That what it is? You sure it’s about my safety? Or did shit just get a little too real for you?”

Derek’s knuckles were white from the force with which he was gripping the chair, and Stiles got the feeling that maybe he was close to hitting a nerve. It didn’t make him feel merciful. “That’s it, isn’t it? It’s all fine and good as long as you’re just playing a game? As long as no one gets past that drug addict ex-cop thing you’ve got going on, as long as no no one gets a good look at you? But you kind of screwed the pooch on that one, didn’t you? I bet you regret giving me that access card now, don’t you?”

Derek was up and pacing, hand over his mouth by the time Stiles finished, shaking his head like he was trying to clear his ears, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by a loud slam. Peter was in the room before Stiles could even stand, pointing a gun right at his face.

The man’s voice was so calm and even that Stiles would have suspected it was a joke if it wasn’t for the way the gun was trembling just a tiny bit, like the guy was overloaded on adrenaline. “Sorry to interrupt whatever fun times the two of you had going here, but I just couldn’t help but wonder why the fuck your boss is laying odds on finding a murder-suicide happening here.”

Stiles fishmouthed for a second, capable of making little more than confused sounds before Peter started in again. “Is that what the bag by the door is? Party favors you wanted to surprise your _lover_ with? Maybe get him worked up enough that when you put him down everyone would say it was the only thing you could do? Like putting down a mad dog?”

Stiles was reeling, shaking his head hard. “No. Nuh-uh. No way, it was Duke. That bag by the door, the shit – he made sure I got coated in it. Knew I was coming here after. I swear, I had _no idea_ , Peter.”

Peter was shaking his head, though, not interested in listening. “Yeah, sure. And you had nothing to do with it. Didn’t even know about it until you came to his door.”

For a man who could detect lies, he was being ridiculously stubborn. And to put the cherry on the cake, Stiles saw Derek stiffen out of the corner of his eye. “The bag by the door, Stiles?”

Stiles whipped his head around indignantly, forgetting about the gun completely for a blessed moment. “Are you actually fucking _serious_ , Derek? You think I’d... You know what, never mind. My clothes are in that bag. Along with everything I used to wipe down the fucking _wall_ you shoved me into after you flipped out. I didn’t want to throw it out ‘cause I thought maybe it was evidence.”

Thankfully, Peter took Stiles’ sudden movements in stride. He kept the gun trained on Stiles but dropped back a step, glancing at Derek with a sharp look. “ _Flipped out_ , Derek? You get some of that stuff in you?”

Derek’s jaw tightened as he glared back at Peter in an open challenge. “Only trace amounts. Nothing happened.”

But Stiles raised a hand in protest. This was not an argument he was ready to let go of. “No, no. That’s not true. Something _did_ happen. You locked yourself in the room and _made sure_ you wouldn’t hurt me. That’s one hell of a fucking something Derek, even if you want to keep pretending it was only luck that held you back.”

Derek’s eyes snapped back to Stiles. “ _Trace amounts_ , Stiles. _That’s_ what held me back. If I had so much as _touched_ that shit, I can absolutely guarantee that you’d be in pieces all over the apartment.”

Stiles felt like he was crashing to the ground, caught between the gun in his face and the blown-out emptiness of Derek’s withdrawal. “Fine. If that’s what you want to believe, fine. You get your excuse to back out before anything gets messy, your partner here gets to act like he’s saved your ass again, and you assholes can go back to leaving me the fuck alone.”

The resounding silence was answer enough for Stiles. He hadn’t even realized that he’d called their bluff, but the sudden way no one could quite make eye contact was hard to miss. “Except you can’t, can you?”

He didn’t get an answer to that, either, but Stiles didn’t figure he needed one. He willed Derek to look him in the eye, kept talking as if Peter had never walked in. “You _stopped yourself_ , Derek. And now Deucalion’s played his hand, and I know better than to let something like that happen again. So can we go back to the part where I’m telling you that the fucking _point_ is fucking _moot_? Or are we just going to keep pretending that you started this ‘cause you couldn’t keep your hands off my ass?”

It hurt to say it out loud, to acknowledge just how much of what they had been doing was a matter of some sort of necessity, but it was strangely liberating as well, not waiting for someone else to point out the fallacy in what they were doing. Sure, for a minute there he’d thought there was more, and he still knew Derek was way more invested in what they had going on than he would ever admit, but if the bastard was going to default into some sort of _it's just a job_ position every time he got spooked, then Stiles should probably stop thinking that _he_ mattered more than _the job_. At least that way he didn’t have to feel like the ground opened up under him every time Derek called what they were doing a _game_.

And let’s be honest, after everything he’d heard the night before, it was becoming pretty clear that Derek was hardly running the show. It all came back to Peter. Everything came back to Peter. So Stiles did himself a favor and locked eyes with the man while he was in a position where lying might get him more trouble than the truth.

“Now, I know for a fact that whatever it is _you_ see in me has nothing to do with my ass. I’m starting to think it doesn’t have half as much to do with Deucalion as you’d like to pretend it does, either. Or maybe it does, but I don’t think it has a fucking thing to do with my drug running skills.”

Peter tilted his head with a little gleam in his eye, but Stiles stopped him before he opened his mouth. “And don’t think you can run circles around it this time, Peter. I don’t have to remind you that Derek can tell if you’re lying, do I?”

Peter snapped his mouth shut with a small nod, taking a deep breath and starting over again. “I have to say, Stiles, that for a kid as perceptive as you are, you have some amazingly massive blind spots. It’s one of those things about you that never ceases to fascinate me.”

Stiles watched as the man re-holstered his gun, didn’t let it relax him much. Peter was clearly just as dangerous unarmed as he was with weapon in hand. “So why don’t you enlighten me, asshole? Just what is it that I’m not getting?”

Peter smirked and bowed his head, sitting in the chair that Derek had vacated before talking again, fingers steepled like the machiavellian fucker he was. “You’re right. Deucalion likely could care less about your ability to mule for him. You’d have been dead or promoted long ago if that was the case. As far as I can surmise, he’s keeping you on that job so that he can keep you close at hand. Because, believe it or not, Stiles, you are quite a high value target.”

Derek had leaned against the wall, holding himself with crossed arms. Stiles could feel his own jaw tightening in sympathy with Derek’s. “Get to the point, Peter. And don’t bother saying it’s because of his dad. We know that’s not it, either.”

Peter smiled on as if no one could steal his thunder. “So, tell me Stiles, in all the research you’ve been doing – and don’t bother trying to convince me that you _haven’t_ , because we both know my burning your access codes was fruitless – did you ever try running a search on your own work?”

Stiles shook his head in confusion. “What do you mean, _my work_? I’m a half-assed high school student. I mean, yeah, I ran some research on myself, who doesn’t, but it wasn’t exactly enlightening.”

Peter was shaking his head and almost laughing, and Stiles would have been tempted to throw him out a window if the man wasn’t three times stronger than him. “I guess it makes sense. I mean, who would run a search engine on a search engine, after all?”

Stiles could feel a tingle in his scalp, like things were about to come together. “You’re talking about doodlebug aren’t you?”

“That thing your ridiculously short-sided teacher panned? The one you made available to the public but published so anonymously it took us months just to track its origins? _Yes_ Stiles, that’s exactly the one I mean. In some ways I suppose I should blame my own short-sightedness, spending far too much time looking for a professional in the field instead of a teenaged troublemaker.

“I’m still not sure how Deucalion figured out that it was your design, but then again he was also the first to use your program, so it’s possible that whoever brought it to his attention had known you’d written it to begin with. However it happened, somebody saw a powerful application for your design, used it and got Deucalion results. He found three probable and two definite locations for people under police protection who had been slated to testify against him. The Marshalls have used a slightly altered version with even better results.”

Stiles could feel his gut tightening as the implications of what Peter was saying sunk in. “Deucalion found... People _died_ because of me?”

Peter pointed his finger like it was a gun. “And that right there is the reason why he didn’t tell you a thing about it, just let you blame his paranoia on any bugs of his you ran across. My guess is he figured he’d keep you close and use the fruits of your labor until you were so far underwater with him that you wouldn’t have a choice but to work for him outright.”

“And you? Figured on doing the same? Is that why you pulled Scott in? To make me an offer I couldn’t refuse?”

Peter laughed outright at that. “No, Stiles. I pulled Scott in because Derek gave far too much access to a troublemaking teenager who is very good at finding things out. I did it to ensure that you’ll choose to use _whatever_ information you come up with in such a way that you won’t be burning your best friend’s future place of employment to the ground. I’m not even sure I’d want you working for me. There are too many situations in which an agent is better off not knowing the whole story, and you, my friend, are not the sort to put up with that.”

Derek’s voice cut through the spinning haze in Stiles’ mind. “Is that how you've been working _me_ , Peter?  Just how much do you figure I’m better off not knowing?”

Peter glared at Derek, as if he had the right to be pissed at the question. “You gave a _child_ an untraceable access card, Derek. I’m not about to start pretending that your thinking isn’t fundamentally impaired when your dick–”

“ _That’s enough_ , asshole.” Stiles nearly shouted it, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Peter go on, not with the way it looked like his words were ripping holes into Derek. “You got what you came here for, didn’t you? Made sure we weren’t killing each other? Don’t you think it’s time you fucked off?”

Peter dipped his head and rose in one smooth move, practically sauntering out the door without looking back. Stiles figured he had no reason to look back, given that he likely knew exactly what sort of damage he was leaving in his wake. Derek looked shaken to the core.

He ran a hand over his face as he pushed off the wall. Didn’t even look Stiles in the eyes when he cleared his throat and spoke up.

“Go home, Stiles.”

He sounded so small and tired that Stiles didn’t even have it in him to argue. After all, they’d be seeing each other soon enough, whether either one of them wanted to or not. And the mess they were in wasn’t going to get any simpler regardless of how many words Stiles tried to throw at it that morning.

He’d like to think he understood the usefulness of a temporary retreat. And he refused to see it as anything more than that.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Derek just looked at him, smoldering and intense for a full minute before he finally answered. “Think you can trust me, Stiles?”_

Stiles hadn’t expected to hear from Derek that afternoon. Hadn’t expected to be as happy as he was to hear from him, either, but then again, he also hadn’t been prepared for the very visible tail that followed him home. Deucalion was clearly no longer pulling his punches, otherwise the guys would have been a lot more subtle and a lot less recognizable than they were.

The unexpected company had him shitting bricks the whole subway ride home, and he couldn’t stop wondering if he’d see it coming when Deucalion decided that whatever bullshit genius potential Stiles had wasn’t worth his time any more. Because it _was_ bullshit. Sure he’d come up with a useful tool, but it was the sort of moment of genius that came along maybe once in a lifetime. It wasn’t like he had twenty more of those in his back pocket.

He’d wanted to say as much to Peter too, but then realized that he might be better off letting Peter think as highly of him as possible, even if that made him some sort of a vague threat to Peter’s stability, as if that wasn’t completely laughable. It also had him wondering what the hell Peter was worried Stiles might uncover.

He highly doubted it was anything that could ruin his whole career. Fuck up the case he was on, maybe, but destroy the Agency? Not fucking likely. Still, it did give one pause when a man as dedicated to his cause as Peter thought that little old Stiles could pull one over on him.

_That_ line of thought had him nearly missing his stop, lost in the tangent that if Lydia could chart out the confluence of events that brought all these forces together it would be a spectacular thing to see. Never mind the fact that it would mostly likely end with him dead or otherwise wishing he was dead.

He was probably never going to be able to wrap his head around he idea that _he_ was a catalyst for everything that was coming at him, any more than he could absorb and live with the idea that some stupid smartass stunt on his part might have gotten people hurt or killed. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Peter hadn’t answered that question, but he didn’t really need to. Deucalion had used Stiles' program to hunt people down. He sure as hell hadn’t done that to give them flowers

Derek’s unexpected text cut through the denial and horror spiral his brain was trying to spin him off on, and he couldn’t have been more grateful for it.

_Are you scared yet, Stiles?_

It struck a laser-focus and clarity into Stiles’ mind, reminding him that regardless of what he knew and thought he knew, they still had roles to play. It was also the easiest question to answer that Stiles had gotten in the past twenty-four hours.

_I’m not the one calling it a game, Derek._

Because he didn’t need to pull his punches, didn’t need to pretend like all was sunshine and happiness, no matter who was snooping on the line. Deucalion hadn’t even expected them to come out of the night alive. Likely it would smell wrong if there wasn’t at least some level of animosity hanging between the two of them. Derek himself was making it look that way.

And Stiles was going to ignore the requisite valiant attempt on the man’s part to give Stiles an out. If anything, after all the shit he realized Derek had been put through, Stiles was even more motivated to see things through. Even if Stiles was not much more than a kid, he was clearly still of use to further Derek’s aim. And Stiles was surprisingly okay with that.

_Then look the part when I come pick you up. I want to show you off tonight_.

He never would have thought it was physically possible to chub up at the same moment that your blood ran cold, but he supposed it was just the kind of day for new discoveries to be made.

He’d torn apart his entire closet by the time he was sitting on the stoop waiting for Derek to pick him up, which was kind of ironic, considering what he ended up in.

Derek’s eyebrows made it clear how unimpressed he was when Stiles slid into his car in a hoodie and skinny jeans, but the tone changed drastically when Stiles pulled down the zip and tossed the hoodie in the back seat, talking breathlessly the whole while. “Hey, hey, ease up there, old man. I couldn’t exactly be sitting in front of my own house _looking the part_ , okay?”

He held out his arms and raised his own eyebrows in question.  With the way Derek was taking hard breaths through his slightly-opened mouth, Stiles could tell his final choice had been a winner.

After putting on practically every clean _and_ dirty shirt he owned, he’d come to the startling realization that he looked the part the most when he didn’t have a shirt on at all. That was largely due to the accessories he’d chosen, and wouldn’t Lydia the fashion queen be proud of him for figuring that out?

The collar had come as part of a set. There were arm bands that sat just above his elbows and wrist cuffs as well, wide and blood red like the collar, with D-rings and clever spring-loaded clips that looked more like ornaments than hardware. There were cuffs he’d debated on and decided to go with over his red low-slung jeans as well, around his thighs and right below the knees. He’d even worn the ones on his ankles, although those couldn’t bee seen under the pants’ cuffs, but he figured what the hell, ten points for authenticity. His worn black chucks even looked right with the getup, making his feet look delicate but not dainty.

He thought he caught Derek whispering a small fuck when he leaned forward to show off the final bit, a strap that hung down his back to his ass, studded with rings all the way down its length and ending with a leash-like handhold. He felt Derek finger the strap, running his hands down his spine and it ripped a sudden shiver out of him.

“It could go in front, too if you like, but I thought it looked kind of cool–”

“No. No, this is... like this. This is good.”

Stiles knew exactly what Derek was saying, had seen it himself when he’d angled a couple mirrors to check himself out. There was something really potent about the way the strap looked, hanging down between his shoulder blades, a violent and beautiful slash of color in the middle of that pale expanse of skin.

Funny, when he’d bought the thing, he hadn’t even paid attention to all the pieces, thinking he’d only ever use the collar. He sure as fuck hadn’t thought he’d be using any of it as a fashion statement. But he had to say that he was pretty happy with the overall effect of the ensemble, if the way Derek latched on to his shoulder and bit down hard enough to leave a mark was anything to go by.

They drove in silence for a while and he couldn’t say for sure, because after all this was Derek he was dealing with, but he thought maybe the man was taking a moment to compose himself. It wasn’t all that long before they were parked in some nondescript industrial corner of town. Derek grabbed Stiles' arm and stopped him from opening the door, pulling something out of his pocket.

It was a bright red lollipop, and Stiles couldn’t hold back the shit-eating grin on his face. There was no way that big red ball was going to look anything but obscene between Stiles' lips.

He cooed with a bright laugh as he plucked it out of Derek’s hands and unwrapped it. “Aww, Der, you even got it to match.”

But Derek held his wrist back when he raised it, his look suddenly serious. “It’s not just... It’s laced, Stiles.”

Stiles could feel his own eyebrows rise, as if they’d been taking lessons in how to judge from Derek’s. “So, wait, you’re drugging me?”

There was an aborted eye-roll in Derek’s response, but Stiles knew the man well enough to catch it. “It’s mild, a soporific. Intended to heighten your senses. It really isn’t much stronger than allergy medicine, but it could help keep you relaxed for where we’re going.”

“Where we’re going?” Stiles felt a _bad news_ tingle run down from his scalp, staring at the shiny red lollipop to avoid looking Derek in the eyes.

The way Derek cleared his throat didn’t make Stiles feel any better. “One of Dukes’ clubs. Pretty exclusive place. I doubt you know it.”

After a long pause in which Stiles’ mind could do little more than reel off the line _I want to show you off tonight_ , Derek kept talking, his voice softer. “You don’t have to eat it. We can manage either way.”

“Okay. Just what is it we’re _managing_ here, though? Can you at least tell me that much?”

Apparently not. Derek just looked at him, smoldering and intense for a full minute before he finally answered. “Think you can trust me, Stiles?”

And Stiles, well, he wasn’t exactly sure. He _wanted_ to. After all the shit they’d done and been through so far, he’d think that trust was implicit, but then again, he had no idea what kind of shit Derek was planning on pulling and definitely didn’t feel an ounce of confidence about it. And if he was going to be completely honest, it wasn’t so much trust as reckless impulse that had driven him to follow Derek’s lead in any case.

It was probably also reckless impulse that had him sticking the lollipop in his mouth and grinning around it with what he’d like to think of as a devil-may-care smirk, hoping maybe that would be enough to get him out of having to answer with actual _words_ and _honesty_. There was a flash in Derek’s eyes that said he saw right through the shit Stiles just pulled, but when he pulled the lollipop out , wrapping his lips around the tip and spinning it, those eyes clouded right the fuck over and it clearly didn’t matter either way.

The club was a short drive further into a maze of loading docks and alleys. Derek drove with half an eye on the road and most of his attention on all the obscene ways Stiles could think of to defile the innocent lollipop. It took them a while to get out of the car once he parked.

By the time they did Stiles was wearing quite a few more marks on his pale skin to complement the attire and felt like he was floating on a bullet-proof cloud as he followed Derek past a set of nondescript steel doors and into a blood-warm half-lit world that smelled like sex, leather and candle wax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still with me kids? thanks for hanging in there with me, and I do apologize for the sporadic updates, but life is like a swift kick in the nuts sometimes, and it's kind of hard to write when I'm busy in a corner curled up in a fetal position feeling sorry for myself.  
> rest assured, though, I'm gonna see this puppy through till the end.  
> just, you know, gotta go have a pity party from time to time is all.....


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Derek’s voice was quiet, deadly calm. “There will be no business as usual. He’s not going to work for you any more.”_

Really, the club wasn’t all that different from most other smoky and darkly lit clubs he’d been to, if you didn’t count the way the naked people were significantly more tied up and no one was throwing money at them. And also the way that the sex-acts being performed in darkened corners were a hell of a lot more blatant.

Then again, Stiles had to admit that he was a bit distracted by the way Derek dragged him along, tugging on whatever hoop was closest, keeping him just off his balance, the drug in his system making him feel just that much... more. The drug’s effect was subtle. If Derek hadn’t told him about it he probably wouldn’t have even noticed it, but he felt like there was a buzzing just under his skin, making him shiver every time Derek casually brushed a hand over his arm or his naked torso.

He didn’t think he’d be so aware of being topless. After all, it wasn’t like he’d never lost a shirt in a club before, but he could swear he could feel every gust of air flitting around his body. It was a delicious feeling, actually, enough to distract him from any sense of nerves or self-consciousness, making up for the fact that he wasn’t going to get to hit the dance floor that night. Enough that he could almost forget that they were walking into the proverbial wolf’s den.

He couldn’t pin down the music, something amorphous and throbbing that filled the space but didn’t drown out voices, only enhanced the way that Derek’s voice ran straight down his spine when they reached an empty table and he murmured into Stiles’ ear. “On your knees. By my side. You don’t speak or touch anyone but me. You can look, though. You don’t bow your head for anyone but me. You look them right in the eye, understand?”

Stiles thought maybe he did, even with Derek’s hand running trails over his stomach and lower back, lighting a slow burn that was making his knees go weak. He was grateful for the pad on the ground next Derek’s large and comfortable seat, grateful for Derek’s hand, running firm and heavy over his head and shoulders, grateful for the quiet that settled into him, the lassitude of knowing exactly what was expected of him.

He would have thought he’d be jumping out of his skin. Any other time, he was pretty sure he would have been, regardless of the reason why he’d walked in to the club. But as it was, he felt still and heavy, lit from within, but with no pressing need to quench it.

Derek ordered a drink and fed sips of it to Stiles, pulling the lollipop out of Stiles’ mouth and slipping it back in himself. Stiles had no idea what the drink was, something amber that tasted like wood-fire smoke and liquified his body in a warm rush as it slipped down his throat.

It wasn’t long before he was floating easy, soaking in the show, resting his head on Derek’s thigh. Derek rested a casual hand on the back of his neck, sitting back and taking in the scenes unfolding on small lit-up stages ranged throughout the space. Stiles knew Derek’s cool couldn’t be farther from the truth, but even up as close as he was, he looked zen calm. Perfectly in his element.

Although he did realize, round about when the second drink came along, that his only tell was the fact that he wasn’t actually drinking any of the liquor he was being served, but was just touching it to his lips before he passed it down to Stiles. Likely from any other perspective, that wasn’t even visible. Something like that would have made Stiles nervous if the guy doing it had been anyone other than Derek. As it was, it just relaxed him even more, knowing Derek was staying on his game.

He didn’t eve realize that someone had approached until they sat down next to Derek, didn’t realize the weight of the moment until he registered the men that stood behind the guy. He had to raise his head and physically will himself to focus before he realized it was Deucalion.

Derek’s hand pressed heavy on his neck before enough braincells finally lined up for him to debate freaking out about it, and he felt so stupidly _safe_ with Derek sitting between them that he decided he just couldn’t be bothered. This was Derek’s show. Let Derek deal with it. For once, Stiles was going to be nothing more than a useful prop.

_I want to show you off tonight_.

Suddenly, it all made much more sense. And from the bitter little smirk Deucalion was giving him, it was likely that Stiles was serving his purpose exactly as Derek intended.

He didn’t take his eyes of Stiles, but he was clearly speaking to Derek. “If I didn’t know the kid any better, I’d be pissed at you for breaking him and dragging him out in public to show it off.”

Derek’s hand had started to wander, brushing over Stiles' shoulders as he spoke, his voice arrogant, silkier and darker than Stiles was used to hearing. “But you know he’s not broken. And that I didn’t have to drag him anywhere. Does it piss you off, knowing how much he’s given himself over to me?”

Deucalion snorted in derision. “It pisses me off knowing how much a kid will ignore common sense when it comes to his dick.”

Stiles could feel a blush starting to creep up, but then Derek’s thumb pressed on a fresh bruise and he could do little more than roll his eyes and clamp down on that damned lollipop to keep himself from groaning out loud.

Derek’s voice took on a dangerous edge when he answered. “Common sense such as putting himself in harm’s way? Common sense such as trusting a man who would set him up to get hurt? Maybe even killed?”

Deucalion waved Derek’s response away, as if he could make the shit he did mean less by acting like it was nothing. “There was an unfortunate oversight. The men responsible for it have been taken care of. Given our history together–” And that time he was definitely speaking directly to Stiles, “I’d like to think that we can call it water under the bridge and get back to business as usual.”

The thumb brushing over the corner of his mouth reminded Stiles that Derek had told him not to speak. Really, it should have pissed him off. Instead, it felt like a relief, knowing he didn’t have to answer the veiled threat Deucalion liked to call _history_. Instead he just dropped his head and turned his eyes to a nearby stage where a tall flame-haired leather-clad woman was flogging a muscle-bound man who was bent over and tied to a chair. He only pretended not to be listening.

Derek’s voice was quiet, deadly calm. “There will be no business as usual. He’s not going to work for you any more.”

Deucalion sniffed indignantly. “Do you really figure it’s that simple, Hale? I’ve invested time and effort into the kid. He’s worth a lot to me. What makes you think I’m going to turn my back on that?”

Derek’s hand settled like a brick over the side of Stiles’ head, pinning him in place effortlessly, making it impossible for Stiles to move as he answered. “I’m figuring that a fully-enhanced ex-cop is worth more to you than a drug-running kid.”

There was dead silence for a couple beats, and Stiles had to fight himself not to strain against the hold Derek had over him as he kept talking. “He’s spooked anyway, Duke. You really messed with his head, fucking with him like you did. Next time things get tight he’s either going to freak or bolt. Either way, you don’t need that kind of mess. Let me work for you instead.”

Deucalion shifted slightly and waited another beat or two before he spoke. “Can’t say I’m not intrigued, but why the fuck would I want you working for me anyway? Not like you have a track record that screams out _trustworthy_ , after all.”

Derek’s grip finally loosened, but it had been enough of a warning that Stiles kept his head down and tried to keep his body loose. “You’ve got your insurance right here. As long as the kid is safe and out of the racket, I’ll do anything you ask.”

There was another pause and the sound of ice cubes rattling in a cup before Deucalion finally spoke up again. “ _Anything_ , Hale? You sure you can handle getting dirty?”

Derek’s exhale sounded a little relieved and a lot haunted. “Been a long time since I’ve been clean. A man in my position can’t exactly afford to have a conscience. I trust it goes without saying that certain kinds of anything aren’t going to come cheap?”

Stiles heard Deucalion stand and spared a quick glance his way before turning back again. The guy getting flogged on the stage was sobbing and asking for more. It was interesting enough that Stiles almost didn’t catch the response.

“All right, Hale. I’m willing to give you a shot. _I trust it goes without saying_ that if you don’t live up to my expectations I’ll be taking it out on the kid’s hide?”

Derek’s response almost sounded casual. “I have no doubt whatsoever about your capabilities. And I believe that this could be the start to a very lucrative relationship.”

Deucalion gave a parting snort. “It damn well better be.”

Stiles was nearly bursting with questions after Deucalion cleared out, but Derek gave him a tight-lipped shake of the head, and that was more than enough for Stiles to know that he wasn’t getting answers any time soon. They stayed where they were a while longer, and from the way Derek nearly leapt up at the end of it, Stiles could figure that they didn’t stay a minute longer than Derek deemed it necessary.

The night air didn’t bring relief, though. And the walk to the car didn’t feel like a victory march, either.

When they got in the car, Derek dragged him carelessly over by the chin and pulled the remains of the lollipop out of Stiles’ mouth, taking him in a bruising kiss before he sat back and started up the car, popping the lollipop into his own mouth and crushing it between his teeth.

Stiles startled, watching him as he pulled on his own seatbelt. “You sure it’s safe for you to be eating that while you’re driving?”

Derek’s grin was just a little too mean for Stiles to rest easy. There was something just slightly off, there, resting at the corners of his eyes. “It’s just candy, Stiles.”

Stiles felt the hair on his neck rise, felt his scalp tingle and his heart start to beat out all the fear he should have been feeling earlier. Except it was worse, it was like those moments in a nightmare when he’d realize that the ground beneath him was nothing but thin air. Like he could almost feel himself falling, bracing for the feeling of his bones crushing as they hit the ground. And it wasn’t just because of what Derek said. It was the way he spoke, the way he was holding himself, like there was a wall between them that hadn’t been there seconds ago.

Stiles had a feeling Derek was about to plunge a knife in, but he could do nothing except play along with it. “I thought you said–”

“Just words, Stiles. They’d be able to smell a drug, they would have known it wasn’t real. A lot harder to sniff out a mind-fuck. You were perfect, by the way.”

There was no fondness. A small trace of mockery. Stiles kept himself very still for the rest of the ride, grabbing his hoodie off the back seat when they parked. He debated just taking off, but then again the bastards were probably still watching, and anything other than Stiles following Derek into his apartment like the good little _pet_ he was supposed to be would likely garner far too much suspicion.

He punched Derek square in the jaw as soon as the door was closed, though. Derek just took it with a shake of his head and a sour grin, turning his back on Stiles and pointing a thumb at the couch.

“There’s a blanket and pillow over there. Get some rest, kid.”

A blanket and pillow already on the couch. Like Derek had known exactly how this was going to go. Like he’d _intended_ on it ending up this way. And that’s when it hit Stiles, what had been wrong with the way Derek was acting – and it was just that. Derek was _acting_ , more than he ever really had around Stiles. And there was only one thing that had changed.

“That how it goes, then? You got your in with Duke, so now I’m old news?”

The shrug in Derek’s shoulders as he paused in front of his bedroom was just tired, like he was fighting himself to make it happen, and Stiles just had to laugh, high and clear. It froze Derek, got him looking much more lively, even from the back. Good. At least Stiles could still get his attention.

“Except you can’t make it stick, can you? Face it Derek, you’ve got it just as bad as I do. Maybe even worse. At least I can live with myself.” Stiles edged closer, his voice a hiss as he leaned over Derek’s shoulder. “At least I have the guts to admit it’s more than a game.”

Derek rounded on him, slamming him up against the wall, sounding like anger, but Stiles could see it for the pain it was. “And so what if it’s _not a game_ , Stiles? What difference is that going to make? Just where do you think this is going, anyway?”

He had no answer to that, but then again, he never was too good at planning for the future. As far as Stiles could tell, it seemed like the future always had plans of its own, and trying to make things go one way or another mostly just gummed up the works.

His baffled look was more than enough for Derek, who spit out a huffed laugh and took a step back. “You figure we can just make this some sort of permanent thing, Stiles? You figure either one of us is capable of something even remotely _domestic_?”

Stiles could hear the echo of Peter’s voice in the way Derek sneered out the last of it, as if Derek had not only heard it but swallowed it down, as if he could make Stiles believe it meant anything just by using it the way it had been used against him. Stiles was going to give himself a little more credit than that, though.

“I doubt anyone would ever call us that, Derek, but we could be _something_. We could be real. _This_ is real. And if you don’t want it, fine, then say so.” He raised a hand just as Derek was about to open his mouth. “But you’re going to have to _mean it_ , Derek.”

That took the wind out of his sails. Figured that a person who could drag lies right out of other people wouldn’t be good at lying. Not when it came to something he felt strongly about. Not when it came to doing it to a person who _knew_ him. No wonder the man had problems letting anyone too close.

Derek took another step back, shaking his head as if he was trying to deny the wet way his eyes were starting to shine. “You don’t have a clue what you want. You’re just a kid. You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

As if that kind of logic ever slowed him down before. But he had a feeling that throwing words in Derek’s general direction was going to be a pointless endeavor. He did the only thing he could think of doing, and slid to his knees instead. It punched a breathy gasp of a laugh out of Derek. He paced for a short second before he turned and slammed into his room. Stiles didn’t let that get to him. He figured it was going to take a while to make his point. He was in no rush.

He was still there a while later when Derek came out of his room and stopped dead in his tracks for a second before walking past him and out his front door. That also didn’t get to Stiles. For a kid who had trouble sitting still, there were times he could be ridiculously patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thank you, my lovely friends, for being ridiculously patient with me.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anything beyond the very moment he was in was irrelevant to the matter at hand. He had shit he needed to get done_

Derek lost his breath completely when he stepped out of his room and Stiles was _still there_. He’d been preparing, _meditating_ , now that all the pieces were in play. Peter could scoff at the practice all he liked. It helped to clear his mind before a mission, and the truth was that he’d been doing it long before he knew what it had been called. When there was nothing left to do but count down the minutes, he would always focus down until the world went quiet and there was nothing left but his breath.

It left him feeling as sharp as a knife when he walked out of his door, and the last thing he needed was some damned fool of a stubborn kid reminding him that there was something other than a job to be done. That there were things out there like _want_ and _need_ and beautiful things begging to be broken.

He only let it jar him for a second before he walked past, telling himself that the kid would likely give up and be gone before Derek even made it back. He wasn’t going to let himself worry about what might happen if the kid was still there when he did return. Anything beyond the very moment he was in was irrelevant to the matter at hand. He had shit he needed to get done.

There was a maintenance door next to the elevator. It led to an access shaft, and that in turn led to a dirty little corner of the basement that had long since ceased to exist in the blueprints of the building. The structure had been built by a man who was as paranoid as he had been visionary and batshit insane, and having access to the warren of underground maintenance tunnels that ran under the city was one of the many reasons he still lived in that roach-trap of a building.

By the time Derek reached the surface quite a few blocks away, he was completely unrecognizable and utterly unremarkable, puttering along on a scooter with a cooler box strapped to the back that advertised _Happy Fun Good Time Chinese_ and _24hr Delivery and Takeout_ in faded paint, the phone number deliberately scraped in such a way as to be completely illegible.

A quick stop at a real 24hr Chinese takeout finished his disguise and got him access to a building near his target.  The compressed air lockpick he was hiding with the cartons of food got him past the locked access door and on to a rooftop overlooking Deucalion’s apartment building.

The man liked to think he lived in a fortress. The problem with fortresses were that everybody always thought they were safer than they really were. The techs had wired a tap and a hack into the security system when it had been installed, the Agency having long ago embraced the wisdom of having assets in deep cover working as installation and maintenance techs for most top security companies.

All it took to get in the building was an easy drop to the roof and the simple hook-up of a handheld to a wire feed hidden in the corner of a fuse box right outside the emergency roof exit. And with his disguise still intact, no one even looked twice at him as he made his way through the building to the floor above Deucalion’s apartment.

Once there, he stripped off his yellow safety vest and strapped on a couple devices he’d also hidden under the takeout, and with his hat turned inside out to reveal an exterminating company’s logo, it was pretty easy to talk himself into the apartment above Deucalion’s. A couple blundered statements about rats and a not-so-deadly, at least not _really_ deadly but definitely airborne contagion was enough to get the tenants out of the apartment for the night. From there it was an easy scale off their balcony and a drop on to the one below.

It wasn’t the kind of jump he took lightly, after all, he was hundreds of feet up in the air, but he also knew that he’d made plenty of jumps like it without blinking when he was much closer to the ground. And it was more the company he was jumping into that he was nervous about anyway. For that, he had to trust the groundwork he’d laid out earlier that night.

And given that he wasn’t shot as soon as he dropped into Deucalion’s inner sanctum, he was betting that he’d called it about right. He couldn’t hide the feral grin that slipped out of him when he spotted the man sitting alone in his darkened room, huddled into himself.

It was a simple thing, jimmying open the lock and slipping inside. More of a risk that Deucalion could hear it, but again, he’d bet right that the man wouldn’t call for help, just tensed toward the sound. He had probably been waiting for this. It was probably the only thing he could see coming. Not that he could actually _see_ anything. Derek could tell from the way he lifted his head at the sound of the door but didn’t track his movement when he slipped inside.

Derek came in as close as he dared, just so he could see the man jump when he spoke. “What’s the matter? Not gonna call for help?”

Deucalion did jump. He also fired a shot with a silenced gun, but Derek had figured he’d do something of the sort and was well out of range when the bullet flew. He’d taken the gun for himself before the man had the chance to fire it again.

“I guess you’re not in the mood for company, are you?”

It was really a rhetorical question. There was no way a man that in love with his power was going to let anyone near him in the weakened state he was in. Derek had been banking on that. He would have been dead by then if Deucalion had been any less predictable or any less of an asshole.

The man’s voice was shaky, like it had been a long time since he’d felt as scared as he did in that moment. “What did you do to me?”

Derek kept his voice light and conversational, but he didn’t stop moving. “I spiked your drink. Slipped you a slow acting toxin that destroys ocular tissue. Well, that’s what it does first. Eventually it’ll eat big holes in your brain, turning it into swiss cheese, but that takes weeks. The damage isn’t reversible, but the progress can be halted, if you know _exactly_ which additives were used with the toxin. But I bet you knew what it was the minute your vision went purple, didn’t you? I’m sure a man that knows as much as you do about what sorts of drugs are out there is familiar with Doctor Violet’s work. You might want to work on refining your questions, there, Duke.”

Deucalion slipped out a small growl. “ _Fine_. What the fuck do you want with me _Hale_? Is that a good enough question? You here to fuck with me before you offer to kill me quickly?”

Derek didn’t bother to hide the smile from his voice. “I could. You sent the kid to me so he could get _ripped apart_. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’d like to kill you. I’d love to taste your blood, Duke. I really would. But you’re a lot more useful to me alive.”

 _That_ dragged a little fire into the man. “ _Useful?_ You figure I’m _useful_ like this? You really are a fucking idiot if that’s what you think. Those assholes out there are gonna take one look at me like this and they’re going to _tear me apart_ , Hale, even if you have the fucking antidote. How useful do you think I’ll be to you then?”

“I guess I’m not one to speak, but I have say it’s kind of amazing, the way you’ve managed to surround yourself with people who would shank you the minute your back’s turned.”

“Just get to the fucking point, Hale. Or let me die in fucking peace.”

Derek knew he was getting far too close, but going by the way the man was slumped in on himself, he was broken already. “You don’t get peace, you sack of shit. I’m not here to give you peace. I’m here to get you the fuck out of here.”

It loosened the grip on the knife Deucalion been trying to hide, made it easy for Derek to slip it out of his hand. “ _Get me out?_ What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Derek lay an arm over his shoulder and another on his wrist, already easing the man into a standing position. “That’s supposed to mean that if you walk out of this building with me, I am capable of not only providing you with an antidote, but I also have the resources necessary to provide you with adequate protection for the rest of your natural undeserving life, asshole.”

That’s about when the penny finally dropped for the bastard. “ _You’re still a cop?_ Do you honestly expect me to believe that an active duty cop would slip a Violet in someone’s drink?”

“Not exactly _active duty_ on the books, but I can still bring you in. And you can tell them all you want about what I did to you. They’ll just look at you like you’re talking about a ghost. Not that you’d be able to see it.”

The talk was academic. The man was already standing taller, trying to figure out his bearings. He was already Derek’s. Had been the minute he’d sat down next to him at the club and ordered himself a drink. It had been exactly what Derek had been hoping for, especially with the potent distraction that Stiles had provided, not just for Deucalion but for his lackeys as well.   _One meet._ That had been all he needed.

That was usually all he ever needed.

A quick call from his handheld to the device still on the roof killed the power in the entire building and disabled the backup generator long enough that Derek and Deucalion were in a cab halfway to the drop zone before anyone even realized the man had left the building.

Derek was long gone by the time Deucalion stepped out of the cab and into the Agency's hands, the recipe for the cocktail that was killing him clutched tight in his fist.

Peter shot him a text confirming receipt of the delivery, surprisingly making no comment about the damaged condition of the goods. Then again, Deucalion would only ever be a useful pawn and source of information. It wasn’t as if the man’s testimony would have held any kind of weight in a courtroom, and it wasn’t as if the threat of prison would have brought the man over to their side anyway.

Derek had figured that the only thing they could offer Deucalion was protection from his own bloodthirsty men, and the only way that would work was if he had something to fear from them. And if the whole thing had the ring of retribution to it? That was something neither Peter or Derek would likely ever mention. The complete absence of a comment about Deucalion’s state was a clear enough message in and of itself. If he knew the man well enough, and Derek thought maybe he did, it was likely Peter was happy with the outcome.

At any other other point, the thought might have been enough to make Derek preen, albeit inwardly. But things had changed between them, thanks to the kid and all the inconvenient truths he had a way of tripping over and bringing to the light. Peter’s little visit might have been rough, but it had been enlightening enough that Derek was willing to exchange his sense of trust in Peter for the things he’d learned.

The boy was a data-miner, a truth-finder, tried and true down to the bone, whether he realized it or not, and that wasn’t a thing to take lightly. Anyone in the intelligence community would say as much. Because no matter how many facts one had at hand, and no matter what sorts of fancy ways one had of bringing information out to the light, it took a certain kind of special mind to synthesize all that data in such a way that something useful could be made of it.

Sure, you could train yourself to be analytical as hell, and that could get you pretty far. But what Stiles could do? It was a rare skill to be able to intuitively _know_ what information was false and true and what, in all of that, was actually _useful_. Like finding the vein of ore in the middle of thousands of pounds of useless stone. And he had a knack for it, a gift for cutting through the chaff and getting to the part that mattered with laser-focussed intensity.

It made Derek feel ridiculously light-headed, knowing he was under that kind of scrutiny. It also scared the fuck out of him, realizing how much Peter actually itched to get his hands on Stiles.

Not the Agency. _Peter._ Because Derek knew the man well enough to to know when he was running a side game of his own, cultivating assets off the books much in the same way he’d kept Derek off the rolls. And now that Scott would be working under Peter’s roof, it would be an easy thing, gaining access to Stiles whenever he wanted it. It wouldn’t raise an eyebrow, let alone a flag, should anyone happen upon evidence of their affiliation. There was already common ground enough between them.  

He wasn't entirely certain Stiles was any better off under Peter's thumb than he had been under Deucalion's.  And if Derek was still in the picture, he knew he wouldn’t just be another useful correlation. He’d be a lever. All Peter had to do to make one of them dance would be to pull on the other’s strings.  

He should have seen it coming, and he wished he could have been man enough to stop it, but Peter was right. When it came to that kid, he had no sense of self-preservation whatsoever.  And given how badly he mangled his attempts to scare the kid off, it was pretty clear that he also had little to no self-control either.

Derek was screwed if the kid was still there when he got home, given the state he was in. He doubted he’d even be able to finish a sentence.

And in the end it came as no surprise to find him there, on his knees where he'd left him, a little bleary eyed, sure, but far too present to do either of them any good.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Stiles was well aware of the dog slurs enhancement-detractors used and had a pretty good idea how much Derek would hate hearing shit like that, and some day, Stiles swore,_ someday _he would learn how to keep his mouth shut._

Stiles scrambled when he heard the key in the lock, but it wasn’t like he’d gone far, only just slumped over a little, really, so he managed to be upright and kneeling by the time Derek walked through the door. Derek stopped dead in his tracks again, and that time Stiles felt like he’d earned the dramatic pause. He couldn’t feel anything below his hips other than a vague ache that promised to blossom into something sharp and ugly the minute he started moving again, but he wasn’t going to regret it for a second.

After all, he was making a point. And winning an argument was always worth a little pain. Especially if winning meant he got to keep Derek. Not that he’d figured out what the hell it was they were doing with this mad-cow two-step they’d been dancing, but...

He just couldn’t back away from it, was all. Even if nine out of ten logical minds might agree that he should just call it a day, and even if all the reasons he had for staying were the wrong reasons. At the end of the day, all Derek had to do was look at him with that smoldering intensity, and, nope, he wasn’t going any-damn-where.

Speaking of, the intensity he was broadcasting at the moment was off the charts. Stiles didn’t even need to look him in the eye to feel it. All he needed to see was the measured rise and fall of Derek’s breath to know that he was on the edge of something he had to physically restrain himself from falling into. And fuck that. When Stiles said he was all in, he meant _all in_.

So he took a chance and straightened his back, looking up with unrepentant challenge. “Here to kick me out?”

Derek’s eyebrows twitched up like Stiles had startled him and he answered with a huff and a smirk. “Can you even walk?”

Stiles shrugged, tried to ignore the blush he could feel blooming. But maybe feeling embarrassed was a good thing. Definitely it was a good thing if it got the man locking in on Stile’s vital-signs, staring at him like the apex predator he was.

It took Derek a minute to come back to his senses. His words were clipped, like maybe he was having a hard time with the part of his brain that made words, and that thought shouldn’t have been anywhere near as hot as Stiles’ dick thought it was.

“Gonna hurt, when I make you move.”

Stiles gave a quick nod, suddenly really short on breath. “I figure.”

Derek stalked forward, taking him by the chin and tilting his head up. “But you want that, don’t you?”

Stiles dipped his head a little, tilting so Derek’s thumb was resting on his bottom lip before he looked up again. “I want everything, Derek. Anything you want to give me.”

Derek sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes clouding for a second before he came back to his senses. “You have no idea–”

Stiles jerked back, pulling his head out of Derek’s reach as he answered. “Look, do me a favor and stop telling me what you think I don’t know, Derek. You don’t want to, fine, then, give me a minute and I’ll get out of your hair.” He looked back up, trying for a smoldering look of his own. “But when I said _anything_ , I meant it. So if you think I’m wrong about that, why don’t you try proving it instead of just standing there _telling me_ –”

He didn’t even register getting picked up, it happened so quickly, just let out a startled _oof_ as Derek’s shoulder dug into his stomach. The pins and needles that started up in his legs felt like wildfire by the time he hit the bed, and he couldn’t hold back the whimper or the urge to curl up into a ball. Not that it helped.

Not that it stopped Derek either. He dragged Stiles’ legs down by the ankles, settling over him, making quick work of the straps around his legs and stripping him with brutal efficiency, digging hard fingers into his flesh, kneading his legs as he held them straight and Stiles’ body tried to pull away out of reflex.

Stiles cried out and gripped his hands in tight fists, but didn’t tell him to stop, felt vaguely gratified when he heard Derek’s half-whispered growling, “Goddamn... the sounds you make... even _now_.”

Derek had him by the feet, digging his thumbs in _hard_ , and it made Stiles keen and writhe, and why the hell something that hurt so bad like that should make him so hard was beyond his understanding, but holy hell, he couldn’t keep his hips from rolling.

Derek’s soft laugh was about as mortifying as it was liquifying, his voice several registers lower than it usually was. It was his dangerous voice. Stiles was becoming familiar with it. “Jesus, look at you, kid. You’ve got it so bad, you’re like a bitch in heat.”

And he should have been embarrassed, he really should have, but hearing Derek talk shit like that made him want to spread his legs and beg for it just about as much as it pissed him off. Which was just the sort of combination that made it practically impossible for him to keep his mouth shut.

“Yeah, so are you gonna do something about it, big dog, or are you just gonna sit there like someone cut your balls off?”

Stiles was well aware of the dog slurs enhancement-detractors used and had a pretty good idea how much Derek would hate hearing shit like that, and some day, Stiles swore, _someday_ he would learn how to keep his mouth shut.

He’d be the first to admit that he earned it when Derek pulled him up and held him by the scruff of his neck, freeing his dick from his pants and shoving into Stiles’ mouth, pushing in hard and steady until Stiles was choking, tears streaming down his face as he gagged and tried to breathe.

Derek pulled back only long enough to let Stiles catch a breath and shoved in again, and Stiles could feel his throat being stretched open, could feel his body trying to fight the onslaught as Derek held his head in an iron grip and kept sliding out and back in, pushing farther every time, until Stiles’ face was pressed against Derek’s belly and he rolled his hips, likely just to make Stiles feel him just that much more.

By the time he finally pulled back out, the bottom half of Stiles’ face was coated in snot, tears and spit. He coughed weakly a couple times and fought to get his breathing under control, the pain in his legs now a distant fading sensation. His dick had sagged in response to the attack, and Derek nudged it lightly with a hand as he stepped back.

“Fix that,” he rumbled, turning to rummage in a drawer, “Or just say the word and we can stop.”

Stiles had himself in hand and hard as a rock before Derek turned back. Derek dropped a cock ring on the bed next to Stiles and leaned back against the bureau, dick still hard and spit-shined, hanging out of the v of his pants, taunting Stiles just as much as Derek’s upraised eyebrows and smirk were.

“I’m assuming you know how to put one of those on?”

It was one of those neo-polymer types, the kind Stiles had only read about and seen used on porn. It was loose and elastic when he slipped it down over his cock, but when Derek flicked a remote it snugged up and hardened enough that he knew Derek was going to make sure he couldn’t either get soft or come until Derek wanted him too.

He could feel it tingle, a subtle teasing sensation that was not only going to drive him insane, it was going to keep the blood flowing properly enough that, in theory, Derek could leave it on him for hours without causing nerve damage. He really really hoped it wasn’t going to come to that. He’d gone back to stroking himself without even realizing it, the ring’s stimulation making his cock demand attention.

He almost whined when Derek practically barked, “Leave it,” and dropped his hands to the side to fist the sheets as Derek continued. “Lay back, spread your legs and finger yourself.”

Derek had _his_ hand on his dick. That didn’t seem fair at all. Stiles gave him a sly grin instead of doing what he’d been told. “How about you do it, instead?”

Derek pushed off the bureau and stopped in front of Stiles, pulling the leash up from behind Stiles, holding it taut between two hands and shoving it in Stiles’ mouth like a bit, forcing it back far enough to make the corners of his mouth ache.

“How about you let that fall out of your mouth and we’re done, no matter what. And how about I don’t prep you at all?”

In the time it took for his eyes to widen, Derek had flipped Stiles over, pushing his face into the mattress and pulling his ass up high by the hips. Stiles shuddered when he felt cold lube smattering down on his ass and froze solid when, true to his word, he felt the blunt hardness of Derek’s cock pressing against him.

He was caught between wanting to flail away and push back, but bit down hard on the leash in his mouth, not willing to back down, even with the way his heart was pounding and he couldn’t get himself to loosen up or calm down.

He felt Derek’s thumbs pulling his ass cheeks apart, felt those strong hands pull Stiles on to his dick with a sharp burn and a deep ache that Stiles couldn’t get enough of. He curved his spine like a cat in heat, shoving his chest into the mattress, letting out a gut-deep groan even while his body still fought against the intrusion and the burn intensified.

He heard Derek hiss out a cuss, feeling stuck halfway for a second, and nearly screamed when he felt a finger probe and push its way in alongside Derek’s dick, and it was too much, too much burn and sting, it felt like he was getting ripped apart until Derek slipped his finger back out and slammed home, buried balls deep with a single breath and Stiles was so fucking full that Derek’s dick was the only thing that existed.

He wanted to moan and grind, wanted to beg for it never to stop, but he couldn’t even move, could hardly suck in a breath, he was so pinned and fucking _owned_. Then Derek must have done something with his remote, because the damned _thing_ on Stiles’ dick started up some sort of little shimmy and Stiles was gasping out high little breaths, twitching on Derek’s cock, working himself with tiny half-aborted movements, fucking _mewling_ until Derek finally took pity on him and started moving his own hips, rolling and sliding out progressively further on each stroke, slamming back in with a punch before grinding and working in even deeper, spreading him even wider.

Derek kept going, pounding into him like a pile-driver until Stiles couldn’t hold himself up anymore, until all he could do was spread as wide as he could and _take it_ , arms useless and starfished at his sides, his whole body soft and pliant under Derek’s grip, small grunts and moans falling out of his mouth with each half-breath he took. He didn’t want it to end, didn’t want to ever feel empty again, didn’t want to ever know what it was like _not_ to have Derek buried to the hilt inside of him, and then the cock ring ramped up in intensity one more time and Stiles’ whole world fizzed into some sort of supernova just as he felt Derek’s cock fattening and unloading inside of him.

He must have faded. Maybe not passed out, exactly, but sort of lost track of his surroundings, because he wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there, but he was lying on his back and Derek was crouched over him, slicking Stiles’ cock with lube. He was still so hard that it hurt, couldn’t keep himself from twitching convulsively every time Derek’s hand slipped over the oversensitive head.

He was crying, he could feel the tears under Derek’s thumb as he brushed Stiles’ cheek, couldn’t really track what Derek was saying, catching only _beautiful_ , and _almost done_ , and he would have asked what that meant if it weren’t for the makeshift bit still in his mouth, and then Derek shifted his hips and sank down, seating himself fully on Stiles’ dick, and all Stiles could do was gasp, trying to take in air with lungs that had forgotten how to work.

It was good that Derek didn’t need Stiles’ help to find the right angle or the good spots, that he could just ride Stiles like a porn star, because Stiles really could do nothing to help him, could do little more than buck his hips a little and marvel at the _heat_ and _tight_ until Derek finally hit the switch on the remote and the vice around his cock unravelled and Stiles came in waves of rushing sparks running up and down his whole body until everything went white again.

He was crying again. He knew he was crying, came to feeling as fresh and raw and exposed as a newborn, but Derek was there, warm hands running over him, soft words soothing the sharp edges off. When he could figure out how to make his body work, he crawled into Derek’s arms, wrapping himself with Derek’s body, holding on tight until he finally came down.

~~~

He was beautiful. Beautiful and perfect and that was all Derek wanted to say, over and over again, the words he had to bite down on to keep from slipping out like a mantra as he watched Stiles slide back into himself, as he helped him up on coltish feet and held him under the hot spray of the shower and a little life came back to him.

Stiles was smiling, wide and goofy, and Derek knew he was as well, couldn’t hold it back even as that voice in the back of his head kept whispering how _wrong_ it was, how stupid he was to think that he earned this moment, that he deserved anything other than a swift kick in the nuts for taking advantage again, even while he had no good reason to do so.

Derek ignored it, though, or did the best he could, guilt after a good fuck being such common fare for him that he thought maybe he’d feel like something was missing if some part of him didn’t hit an angst-spiral on the comedown. It was just part of the broken and the fucked up that he was. But he also knew that Stiles didn’t deserve having to face it, not in the vulnerable state that he was in, so he gave his attention over to caring for the kid, making sure he felt warm and clean and safe.

He let go, as much as possible, let go of all the lingering thoughts and doubts, knowing they’d be there waiting for him when he woke up. He emptied himself out and filled his arms with Stiles instead, letting the warm and soft of their sleepy touches lull him into a better sleep than he’d had in a long long time.

There was no escaping the truth that was barreling down on them, no avoiding the inevitable way this was going to end. But he could have this, this warmth and closeness, this safe and quiet, at least for a little while. And the truth of it was that he was as starved for it as Stiles had ever been. So he gave it and gave in, for both of them, and held Stiles tight and close enough that he could stave off the nightmares that so often dragged the kid out of sleep like a man dodging bullets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, I'm not exactly sure if I need to tag for Power Bottom!Derek or if Stiles even really earned the moniker of Top!Stiles. I'm not sure, really if there are any tags appropriate or necessary to describe what just happened (that I haven't already used), but if you see the need for one, let me know and I will stick it in there.
> 
> Oh, and "mad-cow two-step" was brought to you courtesy of Nurse With Wound.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Nope. Hell no, not dealing with it, not gonna happen. Not today, you fucking harbinger of doom. Not today."_

Stiles was getting used to being woken up by the overwhelming force of Derek’s brooding. It was downright ridiculous. But this time, he could feel it coming even before he opened is eyes, which meant that maybe he had half a chance to do something about it. So when he cracked an eye open to find Derek sitting on the edge of the bed with a device in his hand, Stiles just reached over and pulled it away, grumbling as he hid it under his pillow.

“Nope. Hell no, not dealing with it, not gonna happen. Not today, you fucking harbinger of doom. Not today.”

At least it got a smile cracking past the up-raised scandalized eyebrows. And who knows, maybe his tone was even a little softer than it might have been otherwise.

“Stiles. We do need to talk.”

Stiles wrapped his arms around his head and whined. “I am _so sick of this shit_ , Derek. Since when has talking ever gotten us anywhere? I mean, seriously. You’re just gonna get pissed off that I won’t believe what a horrible person you are, and I’m just gonna get pissed off because you’re a fucking idiot for thinking that you don’t deserve good things, and then we’re both gonna get butthurt and it won’t make a fucking difference, because sooner or later we’re gonna have to end up faking that we’re fucking and the minute we do that we’re going to end up fucking anyway. So couldn’t we just dispense with the bullshit and get on with the fucking? For the good of humanity? Think of the children, Derek, seriously...”

Well, at least it got Derek laughing and shaking his head for a second. A very short second before he started in with the moping again. “It’s not going to be like that anymore, Stiles. It’s over. Dukes’ not a problem anymore.” He reached right past all of Stiles’ sleepy defenses and pulled the device back out from under the pillow. “The case is over. I can deactivate your tracker now.”

And wow, that started up a panic on so many different levels. “What? No. No, no, no Derek, weren’t you listening to Duke? I’m his insurance policy on you, you can’t just leave me hanging like that, seriously, do you even–”

Something sharp and just this side of deadly in Derek’s eyes stopped Stiles in his tracks. “Deucalion’s not going to be bothering you anymore, Stiles. No one is. You’re safe now.”

Even though something about it made Stiles believe him, he still pulled the tracker back out of Derek’s grasp. “ _Safe_ is such a subjective term, Derek. After all, the world is a pretty dangerous place. Think I’d rather just leave this thing on, at least for the time being. You know, just in case. You never know.”

But Derek couldn’t look him in the eye when he answered. “Not sure that’s a good idea, Stiles. Don’t think I could _stop_ watching you with that still around.”

“What if I didn’t want you to stop? And please, for the last fucking time, don’t tell me that I don’t know what I want, Derek. I _know_ what I want.”

And for once, Derek was willing to listen to that. He wasn’t shaking his head in disagreement. Still had a massive bitch-face on, though, and Stiles just knew he wasn’t going to like what was coming.

“It’s Peter, Stiles. He wants you for the same reasons Duke did, and he’ll use us against each other the same way Duke was planning on. I mean, his motives might be a little better, but he’s more ruthless. You wouldn’t be much better off.”

Stiles shook his head, mind whirling and confused. “Were we not in the same room the other day? ‘Cause that is not what I remember him saying, I distinctly remember something a lot more along the lines of I’m ‘too much of a loose cannon’ than that.”

Derek gave another shake of his head, voice cold like what he was saying had a harder edge to it than he could explain. “He wants you _for himself_. He’d keep you off the record, keep you on as a CI, get you doing things you wouldn’t otherwise be able to get away with. I don’t know how bad it could get, but he’s never been someone I’d call trustworthy.”

“And he’s got Scott, too.” Kind of made his blood run cold, thinking how seriously he might have just fucked up his friend’s entire life.

But Derek perked up on that one. “Scott’s _safe_. Scott’s on the books, in the roster and he’s got people he can turn to, policies in place that will protect him if Peter crosses a line with him. But you’d be better off cutting ties with Scott, too.”

“Cutting ties?” He sounded as unmoored as that thought made him feel.

But Derek wasn’t backing down from that, nodding hard. “Yes. You need to cut ties with both of us. Completely. So long as we’re in your life, Peter’s going to have a way to reach you and he’s going to have a way to get you to do what he wants.”

“What’s he going to want me to do, anyway?” Because it seemed important to know.

“I’m guessing research. Digging up everybody’s dirty little secrets, finding people that don’t want to be found, tracking where the money’s going, that sort of thing.”

And Stiles just couldn’t hold back a small huff. “That doesn’t sound half as bad as running drugs, honestly.”

But Derek wasn’t having it, leaning in and pinning Stiles with a look. “It doesn’t sound like much, but if he’s having you dig up shit in ways that break laws or even violate international agreements, he’s not gong to be there if you get caught. And just _knowing things_ is dangerous, Stiles. People will kill you for knowing the wrong things. There’s people out there who wouldn’t think twice about killing you to keep a secret.”

But all Stiles had was a shrug in response. “ _Still_ doesn’t sound any worse than what I’ve been living with.”

That got Derek tightening his jaw. “Stiles, I just... I’ve done... Look. I did everything I could to get you out of this life. You don’t deserve to be trapped like that, you should be able to make your own choices, not have to get yanked around–”

“Like you?” It was a pointed question, and patently unfair, but it got the response he’d been looking for.

“No, not like me. I’m not the victim in all of this, I made my choice to be here, doing this. I mean, my reasons might not be the best, but it’s not like I’m being _forced_ to do anything.”

“So, if it was my choice? To be here? To stick around?” And maybe, _maybe_ that was enough to get through to Derek. Maybe he’d have to start looking at Stiles as more than just somebody’s puppet.

He still shook his head, but it sounded like his convictions might have been floundering a little. So there was hope. “It’s not a choice when it’s coercion, Stiles. No matter how many times you try to tell yourself that it’s what you wanted anyway. As long as that person has a lever that you know they’ll use to get you to do what they want, it’s not a choice. And believe me, Peter has no compunction about using any means necessary to persuade people to do his bidding when he’s got them under his thumb.”

Stiles tilted his head a little, playing with the sheet he’d gripped unconsciously. “You know, what you call a lever, some people would call a paycheck.”

But Derek shook his head again. “You can quit a job, Stiles. You can walk away.”

He bit down on the groan and urge to pound his head into something hard. “That’s just fucking semantics, Derek. But fine. Here’s what I really want to know. All things being equal. If I _could_ call the shots, if I _could_ walk away any time I wanted to. Would you still want me around?”

Derek sucked in a little huff of a breath and gave a small nod. Had to clear his throat before he answered, like it _hurt_ to form the words.  Sometimes honesty was like that. “Yes. Yeah, I’d still want you.” He looked down at his hands to finish the sentence. “A lot.”

It was almost lost in the quiet of the room, but Stiles heard it clearly enough that it made his heart race and had him cracking a huge smile. “Oh, _hell yeah_. Finally. _Thank you_.” Stiles only just barely managed not to dance a victory lap around the room. Tried to keep his cool and sound like a reasonable adult as he kept talking, fighting down the shit-eating grin that was consuming his whole face.

“So how about we just leave this thing running,” He tapped Derek’s thigh with the tracker, “And give this shit with Peter a little time to shake out, see if we can’t get an idea about what he’s up to before you run around burning all my fucking bridges for me. Which, by the way, if you’re talking about the right to make a choice... pretty damned hypocritical of you, don’t you think?”

And sweet baby Jesus, Derek had the presence of mind to look sheepish. It was like he’d actually managed to grow ears overnight. Or maybe it really did have everything to do with free will for him. Maybe he’d never trust a thing Stiles would say if he thought there was any chance Stiles might be acting out of self-preservation. Which, well, he guessed that was fair. After all, Stiles was pretty big on self-preservation.

It just meant he was going to have to figure out a way to make himself bullet-proof.  Or Peter-proof, to be more precise.  But hey, if it meant he didn’t have to lose Derek, if it meant this could be _real..._  Stiles thought maybe he could move mountains to make that happen. After all, anything could be moved with the right lever. And if the hype was to be believed, Stiles was just the guy to go looking for levers.

But not at that very moment. At that very moment, there were more important matters that needed to be determined. Like, did Derek mind morning breath? And, more specifically, did he mind morning breath _on his dick_?

Turned out he didn’t. Not one little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey kids, if it feels like we might be nearing some form of conclusion, that's because it's highly possible that we are. Not close enough for me to be able to put a cap-stone on the chapter count, but we're getting there. I think. There's still an important thing or two that need to happen, but we're getting there.  
> Goddamn WIPs. Never can get a straight answer from them.  
> Thanks for putting up with me! : )


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He didn’t think he’d gotten it wrong. And it was enough, but at the same time, it was way too much._

Peter was right. Maybe not about much, and Derek would never actually admit it out loud, but he was right about matters when it came to his dick. That was the only explanation Derek could think of for the way he just... _folded_ with Stiles, going completely against all his better instincts. Admitting need. Admitting desire. Absolutely delusional, thinking they even had a chance at something bordering normal. Thinking they stood a chance against Peter.

It wasn’t like Derek could take him out like he did Duke, hell, it wasn’t like he’d even consider it. Regardless of what Peter might think about his dick running the show, Derek did have standards. He did have loyalty. And as much as Peter might have been a ruthless bastard, they’d been through too many corners of hell for him to really wish Peter harm.

Not to mention the fact that what they did, they did for the greater good. To get assholes like Deucalion off the streets, to temper those who would stop at nothing to further their own power. It was easy, in the shell game that Derek played, to forget that he was one of the good guys. But he was. And as morally ambiguous as Peter was, as questionable as his tactics might have been, Peter was one of the good guys, too.

Still didn’t leave him resting easy with the thought that he might have just knowingly delivered Stiles into his clutches, regardless of how well informed Stiles might be on things as they stood. But then again, Stiles had been right, too. Derek was just as guilty as anyone else had been when it came to disregarding Stiles’ own agency.

So, maybe it wasn’t just his dick making decisions. Of course, if he was going to admit that, it also meant that he was going to have to admit that he wasn’t solely interested in screwing around with this teenager, and that was both a terrifying and ridiculous prospect to have to face. What Stiles had come to mean to him, _how much_ he’d come to mean? That was not a question he was prepared to face, alone and sober in the cold light of day.

Then again, like Stiles would say, fuck it. He _wanted_. And it had been lifetimes since he’d wanted a damn thing. So maybe he was playing the fool for it. He couldn’t help but feel like maybe he’d be the lucky fool this time around.

~~~

Stiles was pretty sure he was inspiring a newfound appreciation for the myth of tunnel-people in the library staff, if the looks and whispers he got when he finally dragged himself out of his little research cave were anything to go by. But his head was reeling from what he’d found, so he wasn’t exactly on his A game when it came to the cloak and dagger.

He didn’t really have a clue just how long he’d spent down there, aside from the fact that his dad wasn’t freaking out over his absence yet. He’d brought some food and water with him, so he’d been able to put in some serious time to get what he needed. And he had what he needed. Or at least he thought maybe he did. It was hard to tell, because he was also struggling with the biggest case of WTF he’d ever come down with. It was a hell of a lot messier than he’d ever thought it would be.

Peter was practically a fucking _ghost_ , and really, that much had come as no surprise. Stiles had to chase him down through his connection to Derek, which meant wading through hours of redactions and items removed, as if Peter didn’t even exist before the bank fiasco. But Stiles dug wide, not just deep, and finally chanced upon a few pictures buried in the archive of someone’s police academy blog. Young recruits. Derek’s whole team, working themselves up through the ranks, gaining recognition.

Even there, the names had been removed from the tags, but there were some candid shots, Derek and Peter young, but still recognizable. Two pictures in particular had resolution high enough that he could zoom in on the name badges on the coats before the images pixellated. Reyes, Lahey, Boyd... Hale. They were wearing different outfits in both pictures, so he knew what he was seeing wasn’t just happenstance.

That got him digging further, tripping over birth records, death records, family trees, grade school and high school records, and he got it now, how thorough they’d been at scouring records clean. _Why_ they’d done it. But inevitably, there would be that candid shot, the homecoming game crowd, the fifth grade play, the forgotten second cousin’s social media post full of buck-toothed youngsters at a birthday party.

He didn’t think he’d gotten it wrong. And it was enough, but at the same time, it was way too much.

He needed to talk to Peter. And he had no idea how to get ahold of him.

In the end it was surprisingly easy. Scott had his number.

He was led into Peter’s office the next morning for his ten o’clock appointment like it was just another day in just another high rise, and couldn’t hide back the smirk when he settled into a chair at Peter’s disappointingly unimpressive government issue desk.

“I have to say I’m just a little let down. I thought I’d have to be leaving chalk marks on mailboxes to get ahold of you.”

Peter smiled blandly, and on any other person it might have seemed like a vaguely amused politeness, but coming from this man it felt more like a slow acting poison.

Stiles cut to the chase, fingering the nameplate on the desk. “ _Smith_? Was that really the best you could come up with?”

Now his smile seemed much more genuine, if dangerously sharp as he shrugged and leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Let’s just say I appreciated the irony. It’s not as though I needed to hide the fact that it wasn’t my real name.”

Stiles felt his own grin get brittle as he shook his head. “No. You just needed to hide the reason why.”

Peter’s smile faded altogether. “And you think you know the reason, Stiles?”

Stiles shrugged, refusing to be cowed. “Nope. Can’t say that I get the _why_ , even though I’ve been thinking about it all night. But I do know you’re actually Peter Hale, and as far as I can figure, that makes you Derek’s uncle. I know you took that away from him, and never bothered to give it back. After everything you both had gone through. That’s the part that just keeps fucking with me. Don’t you think he needed you? After all the shit that happened, don’t you think he could have–”

“He puked when his mother came to see him.” Peter’s voice was cold and more real than Stiles thought he’d ever heard it. “He puked and went AWOL for six days. I found him in skid-row, half dead with a needle in his arm. Do you really think _knowing_ would have helped him?”

“But you’d been there the whole time, not like his mom. You wouldn’t have been a stranger to him. It _could_ have helped. You know it could have helped, but you didn’t do a damn thing about it, just let your own nephew become a fucking orphan after that bitch–”

“Do you really think it was that simple? _Yes_ , I was his uncle. I was his little league coach. His scout master. His goddamned police academy recruiter and his team captain when we hit the field. I was always there, he was always under my wing, always walking in my shadow, never sure if he was there of his own right or because I dragged him along, and nothing anyone would say could ever kill that doubt. So when he had the chance, he wanted to forget. He wanted to be just one of the guys, and he thought he’d never feel that way as long as he knew I was his blood as well as his boss. I decided to honor that wish. After I saw what being with his family did to him, I decided that I’d honor it until the day I die.”

Well, that was... That was maybe a little more sensible and less fucked up than he thought it might have been. And it did nothing to ease the confused rattle in his brain.

Peter’s response was smooth and quiet, sounding a lot more like the Peter Stiles thought he knew. “So tell me, Stiles. Now that you know. What do you plan on doing about it?”

And, yeah, that was the fifty-billion dollar question. One he was hoping he would have been able to answer after talking to Peter, but as usual that motherfucker just made things worse. So he figured he’d just lay his cards out, since the thing Peter was least likely to know how to deal with was honesty. At least that would put them on more even footing.

He shook his head lightly before he answered. “I don’t know. I don’t have a fucking clue what to do about it. At first I thought maybe I could hold it over you, use it as some sort of bargaining chip, but even the thought of it makes me feel bad-wrong in the worst way. Then I thought I’d just tell him, but I needed to know why you did it, and now that I do, I just... _Fuck!_ This is so many shades of messed up. I don’t know. I just don’t.”

Peter nodded, a small grin playing out in the corners of his mouth. “You’d fit right in at our family dinners, and I can tell you from the way those end up when someone starts talking about Derek, talking about it isn’t going to unfuck the situation. But I’ll tell you what I keep telling them. Don’t forget what Derek does for a living, Stiles. Do you really think that if he decides to look into his background he _isn’t_ going to figure it out? And if that’s the case, then don’t you think he would have figured it out by now if he _did_ want to know?”

Stiles was still wrapping his head around the picture of some imaginary Hales bickering around a dinner table when he realized Peter had been staring him down, his eyes bright and sharp. That was exactly the Peter he was familiar with. Looking into those eyes had Stiles feeling like he’d just taken a cold shower.

“You said something about bargaining, though. What exactly makes you think you need to come to me with _leverage_ , Stiles? Our business is done, isn't it?.” And how he could make a simple sentence deconstruct itself from the force of its own irony was almost awe-inspiring.

Stiles couldn’t help grinning even while his heart rabbited and he shook his head. “That’s not the way Derek tells it. It’s also not the way it all adds up, so let’s _not_ with the bullshit, okay? You want me, but not as a part of the agency. Like Derek said, you want me for yourself.”

Honestly, Stiles could do without the shark-smile Peter was giving him. “Is that right? Okay. Let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that my nephew was right. Did he happen to mention that I could pay you for your services? After all, consulting firms bring in quite a decent paycheck.”

In point of fact, he hadn’t mentioned it. Most likely for good reason, too, seeing as how waving money in a teenager’s face was a good way to get them to stop thinking about consequences. But Stiles had quite the experience with consequences. And a closet full of money he couldn’t spend. Made it easier to forget the carrot and remember the stick.

“Yeah, he didn’t mention that part, but he did mention that I’d be flying without a net if I worked for you. And I’ve kind of had enough with assholes thinking they could set me up and then keep me over a barrel. And if you’re wondering, I do consider you one of those assholes.”

Peter smiled even wider, like he appreciated the insult. Or maybe he just liked it when his prey fought back. “And yet here you are, still interested in striking a bargain with me. So instead of protecting your non-existent virtue, why don’t you name your terms?”

Honestly, Stiles had thought about it, even before he had figured out who Peter was. And thinking about the Hales arguing over the dinner table, thinking about a whole family with a hole ripped right through it, thinking about a man left desolate in the wake of destruction brought his ideas into even sharper focus. It was probably a foolish and dangerous choice, but he knew what kind of price he wanted Peter to pay to keep Stiles.

“You’re right. I am willing to work for you. But I’m not going to do it as your helpless CI. If you want me to risk everything for you, then you’re gonna to have to give me something that will even out the field. Call it a test of the level of your commitment.”

Peter was smiling like a kid in a candy shop, leaning forward and resting his arms on the desk, ridiculously eager, and he hadn’t even heard Stiles out. “Tell me what you want. I’ll see what I can do.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He leaned forward, letting his voice drop into something close to a growl. “But we both know you don’t like things the easy way, do you, Stiles?”_

Derek shook himself inwardly, didn’t let the hitch in his mind show in his step as he made his way in to the nightclub. It was the same seedy place he’d made first, well, technically, second contact with Stiles, some backwater little place with halfway decent music that was way off the beaten path.

He guessed that was why Stiles had found it in the first place, the club being undesirable enough not to have caught Deucalion’s attention, a bolt-hole where Stiles could blow off steam without risking incriminating himself for it. And that was classic Stiles behavior as well, a convoluted mass of reckless drives and smart choices that ended in scenarios like the last time he’d been there, with enough freedom from Duke’s influence to get himself drugged by a stranger with all sorts of questionable intentions.

And absolutely none of that explained why Stiles had decided to go back. In fact, Derek did not have a single clue what Stiles was up to. With the complicated relationship that had evolved into whatever they had going on, he couldn’t even predict the sort of welcome he’d receive when Stiles set eyes on him.

That was the reason for the hitch, for his hesitance as he looked around the place. Sure, the kid was wearing his collar, but they’d never really had a conversation about what that meant, had they? Never defined parameters, never bothered to delve into the possessive nature of Derek’s psyche, never even touched on subjects like exclusivity.

And sure, okay, they had a lot of shit going on, but Derek also knew that he had only himself to blame for this, what with the whole _your safeword is a bullet_ speech he’d used to derail Stiles’ line of questioning at the very start of it all. Because, dramatic message regarding the peril the kid had been facing notwithstanding, he’d been too chickenshit to even begin to consider them as something real, not until it was, as Peter would say, _fait accompli_.

But Stiles knew Derek would be monitoring his movements, he had to know, practically insisted on it, and hadn’t outright told Derek to leave him alone for the evening. That had to count for something, right? Then again, he wouldn’t put it past the little shit to be setting this whole thing up as some kind of test, although whether it was a test of his freedom or of Derek’s loyalty, he had not a damn clue.

Thankfully, he was a trained operative, and therefore could effectively mask just how conflicted, fucked up, pissed off, and afraid he was feeling. He was just going to ride with it, at least until he found the kid, and then figure out how he felt based on what, exactly, Stiles was up to. Then, maybe, if the occasion allowed, he’d start acting like an adult and take a moment to discuss boundaries and the importance of keeping his hands and other body parts off of random strangers in the name of Derek’s sanity.

He had to double check his GPS and walk the entire perimeter of the dance floor before he finally found the kid, sitting alone at a small table in a darkened corner by the bar. It wasn’t exactly what he’d been expecting, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved to find Stiles alone, tucked away and slumped in a way that screamed _not interested_ to anyone looking. He was staring down at the bottle of beer he was nursing and didn’t bother looking up before telling him to fuck off.

Derek tried not to grin too hard as he watched Stiles’ bitchface morph into something shyly pleased when he finally registered just who was standing in front of him. He also tried not to think too hard about the relief that flooded him with the welcome he received as Stiles nodded to the chair next to him, leaning in after Derek settled, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder for a beat or two before sitting back.

Stiles huffed a small laugh, nodding at the meat market on the dance floor. “You know, this isn’t anywhere near as fun when you’ve got the hottest thing on the market just a phone call away.”

Derek tried to laugh a little but failed at hiding the tension in his answer. “So why’d you come here instead of making that call?”

“I’m not here to hook up, Derek, I’m here to drown my sorrows.” The wry grin he gave as he waved his near empty bottle about said it all.

Derek could feel an eyebrow raise of its own accord. “Those the kind of sorrows you can drown in a puddle?”

Because if the bits of label strewn on the table and the lack of condensation were anything to go by, he’d been nursing that beer for a while. And he wasn’t showing any signs of inebriation.

Stiles bobbed his head, small laugh dying almost as soon as it started. “Yeah. What can I say? Guess I’m just having a hard time staying on task.” His eyes flashed fear and sadness for a second as he turned. “Think maybe you could get me out of here, Derek?”

He didn’t need to be a mental health professional to know that Stiles wasn’t really talking about the club. And he’d be wiling to bet that he could give Stiles what he needed, if only for a few hours. Stiles let out a relieved breath when Derek wrapped his hand around the back of his neck and tugged him to standing, letting Derek lead him smooth and easy all the way to the car.

It was hard to keep his peace on the drive home, hard not to demand answers, especially while his brain was none too hesitant to point out that when fear and sadness were riding shotgun, guilt was likely hiding somewhere in the mix. But he willed himself quiet, shut down his doubts and insecurities and focused on the moment at hand. The truth will out, at any rate, and at some point he was going to have to trust Stiles to give, in his own way and at his own speed, if this was to be more than just a game.

Besides, this particular here and now was quite compelling. If there was some guilt Stiles needed to work out, well, Derek was certain he could accommodate. Not like Stiles hadn’t been enough of a brat the last time around to have earned a bit of discipline, in any case. And if the way the kid was already drifting back into a hard mope was anything to go by, Stiles was in need of a good shove to get out of his own mind. It made him hungry just thinking about it.

But he stopped after he parked the car, put a hand on Stiles’ wrist to keep him from getting out and waited until he had his full attention. Because he was going to do things _the right way_ this time, and that meant talking _before_ they started in.

“Just so you know, I don’t plan on going easy on you tonight.” He kept his voice quiet and calm, and was pleased with the small shudder Stiles gave in response. “But that doesn’t mean you have to take it. You want it to stop, you cry _uncle_ , and we stop, no problem.”

The little nervous grin on Stiles’ lips came as no surprise. “What, no bullet to the head this time?”

Derek grinned back, but he knew his was much more carnivorous. It made Stiles pull in a little gasp of air, and the way his eyes nearly glazed over had Derek nearly purring in response.

“You’re lucky that mouth of yours is so fucking pretty, kid, given the amount of trouble it gets you in. And don’t think I didn’t notice the contrary little shit you were last time we were doing this.” He leaned in, loving the way Stiles melted under him but didn’t back away. “Don’t think I don’t plan on doing something about it.”

Stiles swallowed hard and kept looking Derek in the eyes, biting his bottom lip with a quick and frantic nod. It was all the green light Derek needed. He reached for Stiles’ already hardening cock, kneaded him lightly and watched the way he dropped his head back on the head rest and just _took it_.

“That’s right,” he purred with a low chuckle. “Whose are you, Stiles?”

“Yours.” He gasped it out like a prayer. “Just yours. All yours.”

Even the elevator ride was a delightful torment, with Stiles casually hiding his erection under both hands and Derek resting his on Stile’s lower back, fingertips just lightly dipping in under his waistline with feather-light grazes.

He dragged Stiles into the apartment by the collar and stopped him in the middle of the drab living space, placing him just where he wanted and keeping him there with a firm touch or two, until Stiles stood still without having to be told. He had to work at staying still, if the little tremors that ran up and down his frame were anything to go by, and Derek couldn’t help but chase those down with light touches, seeing if he could call them up himself.

He started at Stiles’ feet and stripped him with slow deliberation, so that he would feel every inch of skin that was exposed to the chilled air, so that by the time Derek was done, Stiles would feel more naked than he ever had. He didn’t stop running his hands over Stiles’ skin even after that, walking around him in slow circles, _possessing_ Stiles with the graze of his fingertips alone until he was nearly panting, mouth hanging slightly open, eyes lost and glazed over. The ease with which the kid was going under was almost as gratifying as it was alarming. Almost.

Derek stepped in close, nearly brushing up against Stiles’ side as he took Stiles’ cock in hand and stoked it casually, without any real intent. “What, no complaints or witty comments for me?”

Stiles puffed out a shuddery laugh, his answer caught between a whine and a whisper. “Just trying to keep my mouth from getting me in trouble. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

Derek rewarded Stiles, spitting in his palm before gripping him tighter, but swerved his shoulder away when Stiles’ tried to rest his forehead on him. He wasn’t going to give him comfort or let the kid hide, not right that moment.

“But you _like_ getting in trouble.” He punctuated his sentence with a strong pull on his dick, rolling his thumb over the head and along the slit, picking up a few beads of precome and smearing them in.

From the way Stiles’ eyes rolled back it was clear Derek was already making it hard for Stiles to think clearly and to keep his mouth shut, and if the way he was biting his bottom lip was any indication, he was going to fight it every step of the way.

So. Not just guilt, but secrets, too.

Derek knew a thing or two about secrets. There were secrets that could kill, and then there were the vast majority of secrets. One thing he’d learned about garden-variety secrets was that contrary to popular belief, they were almost always harder on the person keeping them than on the person they were being kept from. And he’d learned the hard way that there were sometimes damned good reasons why those secrets were being kept, that sometimes you were better off not knowing them. It all had to do with how much you were willing to trust the person keeping them.

He could work with that. He’d been inspired after their last encounter, after all.

Derek led Stiles into the bedroom but left him standing as he pulled out the things he’d need and laid them on the bed. The cuffs that went with the collar. A plug. Large, _too large_ by Stiles’ estimation if the way his eyes widened when he saw it was anything to go by, but there was lube as well. A riding crop. Well received, given the way he licked his lips. A gag with a pretty red ball, reminiscent of the lollipop that nearly killed him with need the other night. Next to that a bell, small enough that it would fit in Stiles’ fist.

Stiles looked about two heartbeats away from dropping to his knees, and Derek could feel his own smile grow feral at the response. He pulled the armchair forward so that it was only inches from the foot of the bed and settled into it after picking up the crop.

He gave Stiles a long slow look, drinking down every inch of him until he started to twitch and had to fight not to cover himself up, then gestured over to the bed with a tilt of his head and a cold smile. “Get yourself ready for me.”

He held in his chuckle at the way the kid’s eyes widened with something close to indignation. “It could have been easier, you know. If you’d done it last time, _like I asked you to_ , you wouldn’t have even had to use the plug.” He leaned forward, letting his voice drop into something close to a growl. “But we both know you don’t like things the easy way, do you, Stiles?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, don't worry, there's more. And by more I mean _more._ Like, right now. Because queues and posting schedules make me break out into a rash. But hey! That means I won't always make you wait for a new chapter, right?   
>  Yeah, I'm not exactly sure why you put up with me either, but I love you for it. *hugs*  
> : )


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Don’t worry kid. I’ve got you. I’m going to give you exactly what you need.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, you know the part in Willy Wonka where they're on the boat and it starts going out of control and Gene Wilder just keeps screaming rhyming couplets and the people on the boat are freaking out and the oopah loompahs just keep rowing like gerbils on speed? This... kind of happened like that. Only with sex. And no candy. Or rhyming.

Stiles swallowed visibly and shook his head softly as he neared the bed. Gingerly, as if something on it was likely to bite him. Derek settled back to watch, paying his own body no attention, not even to lower his zipper and relieve the strain, enjoying the way he almost felt bound himself.

Stiles neared the bed and touched the plug with a tentative finger. “I’m not so–”

Derek interrupted him with a sharp strike of the crop on his ass. Stiles flinched but didn’t complain. “Gag first. Clearly, you’re going to need it. If you need to stop, use the bell.”

Stiles looked like he wanted to ask if he could throw the bell at Derek’s head, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Derek struck his pert ass again anyway, for hesitating. It made a satisfyingly loud crack and made Stiles jump in surprise. It definitely got the message across. Stiles picked up the gag with slightly shaky hands and fumbled a little getting it on, but Derek didn’t offer assistance. That was not the point of the evening, after all.

He settled back and watched Stiles strap on the cuffs with a bit more practiced ease. After cuffing his ankles, he just sat on the bed, his face flushed, slightly mortified and a little at a loss, still not willing to pick up the plug and incapable of looking Derek in the eye.

Derek didn’t bother to hold in a little snort. “Cute, that blushing maiden thing you have going on. Not what I would have expected out of you, but it’s pretty fucking adorable.”

The glare Stiles cut in Derek’s direction told him he’d played it just about right, as did the determined way he lay down on the bed, pulling the supplies up with him. Derek gave him a swat on the inside of his thigh after he’d settled in, getting Stiles to spread his legs enough that he was completely exposed, causing another stutter of embarrassment in Stiles’ movements before he coated his fingers in lube and slipped a tentative hand down past his balls.

His actions were stilted, mechanical in the way he sunk his first finger in without preamble and Derek tapped him lightly in response, making him jump in surprise. “When I said get yourself ready, I didn’t just mean loosen your ass, Stiles. Want you to fuck yourself for me. Want to watch you getting off on it.”

Stiles let out a high pitched little whine, part frustration, part trepidation and part unadulterated _heat_. Derek grinned wolfishly and sat back, getting comfortable for the show. And it was a show, Stiles clearly cutting loose once given permission to enjoy himself, getting off on the effect he realized he could have on Derek as much as he was getting off on what his hands were doing.

Teasing, lightly rubbing his rim and then dipping in, fast and deep, only to pull out again and give a couple lazy tugs to his cock, to stroke his balls before plunging fingers back into himself. It didn’t take long until he was properly fucking himself, on three fingers more often than not, thrusting down when his hand wasn’t giving pressure enough, letting out soft gasps and whines as he forgot himself completely.

“Good. Now the plug.” Derek’s voice was raw, his breath tight as he leaned forward.

From the way Stiles hesitated, he probably would have liked to have gotten up to four fingers before that, but he picked up the lube again and slicked up the plug anyway.

Derek kept talking as Stiles brought it down between his legs. “You’re going to have to work it in, since you’re still nice and tight. Just take your time. And let me hear you.”

So Stiles did, rubbed the plug against his hole, pressing harder until it caught, pushing down with his hips as much as he was pushing in with his hands. His groans and whimpers rose in pitch steadily, hitching on a sob the first few times he tried to push in and the plug slipped away, sliding up the register until he was nearly screaming when the thickest part of the plug breached his rim, then dropped to a gut-deep grunting groan when his ass pulled the rest of it deep, closing in on the narrow base.

He rolled his hips, softly, feeling the way it filled him, fucking up into the slicked-up hand he’d wrapped around his cock with tentative and shallow thrusts. Not getting off so much as _feeling_ all of it, although his whimpers had become desperate and pleading little gasps. Likely he was just as nervous of the tight clench his orgasm would bring as he was wanting it. It hardly mattered. Derek wasn’t even close to done with him.

He tapped Stiles lightly with the crop on his inner thigh. “Good boy. Now roll over for me, then sit up on your knees.”

Normally, that would have taken a second or two. As it was, he moved gingerly, like he was nursing a wound, and he was flushed and panting by the time he was on his knees. Derek knew Stiles could feel every movement from the inside, with a too-full achy and tantalizing rub, leaving him feeling invaded and exposed.

He stood and leaned down by Stiles’ side, pushing and tugging the plug as he whispered hot into Stiles’ ear. “Can’t decide if it’s too much or not enough, can you? I bet you’d be begging like a pro by now, just pleading for my cock if it wasn’t for that gag, wouldn’t you?”

Stiles whined in response, his eyes clenched shut tight, breath coming in hard pants through his nose. Whether he meant it that way or not, Derek was going to take it as agreement. He ran a soft hand down his arm, stopping at the wrist to hook the cuff to his ankle, doing the same to the other before running his hand back up and resting it behind his neck. Stiles’ eyes had opened during the process but remained looking outward with a cloudy glaze, rolling back a little as his head titled into Derek’s hand.

“Don’t worry kid. I’ve got you. I’m going to give you exactly what you need.”

Stiles whined again in response and then went still and quiet, likely in surprise as Derek pushed him down until his shoulders were pressed down on the mattress and his ass was in the air. Derek stood and ran the crop lightly over his ass, watching goosebumps raise in its trail before he stopped, pulled back and swatted him hard.

Stiles cried out but raised his ass a little higher so Derek obliged him with another swat, watching the way Stiles couldn’t help but buck his hips a bit when the sharp pain trilled into pleasure down his spine. He kept his strikes hard but varied the pace, teasing him with light touches of the crop just to watch him flinch between welt-raising strikes.

By the time Derek had his fill Stiles was making constant pleading little cries, probably not even aware of the way he was holding his ass up high and his hips were bucking, fruitlessly fucking the air in desperation. He laid the crop down and kneaded Stiles’s marked up ass while he stripped, tapping on the plug just to hear Stiles grunt.

He lifted Stiles easily, sliding in under him so that their hips lined up and Stiles lay helpless on top of him, his arms still pinned down by his ankles. Stroked Stiles a couple times just to feel his shudder before he held them both in one hot fist and stilled completely.

“Now, get us off.” he whispered low and dark into Stiles’ ear. “I don’t care who comes first, but we both come before you stop.”

The noise Stiles made could only be classified as a whine, but he started moving regardless. Without the crop on his ass distracting him, he’d feel every thrust and swivel he made echoed by the plug, which was now clenched tight and likely a bit sore from the way he’d tensed around it during the whipping. And with his arms made useless and his center of balance skewed, the only thing he could move was his hips, so he’d be effectively fucking himself from both the outside and the inside.

He was a writhing glorious mess on top of Derek, slipping and sliding in an excess of lube before he found a rhythm and his thrusts became hard and determined. His gasps evolved into grunts, and he was fucking like a champ by the time Derek came, white hot and tight, followed almost instantly by Stiles’ coming on a scream, bucking violently as Derek yanked the plug out after his first spasm.

Derek slid his own fingers into Stiles, rubbing out and fucking in, dragging Stiles’ orgasm out, not letting up even through his tears, until Stiles was hard again and fucking into his fist again, thrashing more than thrusting his way through a second orgasm before he finally went limp and senseless over Derek.

Derek stilled his fingers but left them buried in Stiles as he rolled his hips languidly in the slick mess between them, rocking slow until he came again as well.

Stiles’ eyes were open by the time Derek unclasped his gag, and he was whispering in a breathless pant while Derek unhooked his wrists from his ankles. It was so soft and airless he had to lean in to hear, made easier by the way Stiles reached up and pulled Derek’s head closer.

“Don’t. Don’t stop. Don’t want you to stop. Want your fingers back in me. Don’t clean me off, want you to rub it in. I want you to fuck my mouth and come on my face. Want you to come in my ass so many times I’m leaking for days. Please. Just, _please_.”

He was hard already, bucking softly into Derek’s stomach again, mouth hanging open and panting against his ear. And the thing was, Derek _could_. One of the side effects of augmentation. His batteries didn’t really run out when it came to sex. So he buried three fingers back into Stiles’ ass and curled them both around so he could fuck that bruised and open mouth without making Stiles get up.

He was four fingers deep and Stiles was mewling by the time he pulled out and tugged himself once before coming, painting Stiles' face hot and messy, feeling a hot spurt on his forearm when Stiles came in response. Stiles tightened his thighs around his wrist when Derek went to pull his fingers out, so he left them in, rocking slow and steady into him as he dragged his other hand through the come on Stiles’ face, feeding it to him one fingerfull at a time.

Whatever it was the kid was working out, Derek was prepared to see him through, just glad he chose to do it with someone who could keep track of his vital signs. Just glad he chose to trust Derek enough to do it with him. After a few minutes of slow movements, Stiles whined, squirmed around and  _presented_ , ass high and incredibly still locked on Derek’s fingers, fucking with impatient thrusts.

The only thing that gave any hint of all they’d already been through was the way Stiles' voice was reedy as Derek slicked up and slid into his swollen and hot ass. But the words he said...

_“If I pass out, just keep going okay? Keep going until you can’t anymore.”_

It was enough to give him a heart attack.

But he gave Stiles what he asked for, maybe not to the point where he _couldn’t_ , but far past the point of it being sane or healthy. (Although not to the point of injury, he was careful about that.  He was _thorough_.)  Derek fucked Stiles in and out of consciousness until he ached, until his own mind had had enough and begged for respite.

Cleanup was slow and methodical, both of them hanging off each other and moving like old men, their touches careful, gentle and lingering. They’d both slipped into a warm quiet, touches meaning more than words, tears and smiles shared equally between them.  They stripped the bed but neither had the energy to make it up again, and neither wanted to let go of the other long enough to do it anyway, so they made a nest of blankets and pillows on the bare mattress and slipped off to sleep in a mess of tangled limbs, not sure where one of them ended and the other began.

Derek had enough presence of mind to think, as he was drifting off, that this, whatever they had done, wherever they had gone, _this_ was something far more meaningful and monumental than anything either of them had planned for.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There was a long pause and then a low rumble. “So this means you’re mine, then?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Stiles burrowed deeper into Derek before he sighed out his answer. “In all the ways, Derek. Yeah. That’s what it means.”_

Stiles woke up to the pressure of eyes and silence, but for once didn’t feel nervous about it. That might have had something to do with the way he was still half-draped over Derek and the way Derek was running his fingers gently through his hair.

“You can’t actually fuck your conscience into submission, you know. Not that I don’t appreciate the effort.”

And even though the topic should have made his blood run cold, the soft amused tone just made him kind of... melt. “I know. I just–”

“Whatever it is, you don’t have to tell me. Not unless you want to and not until you’re ready to. Or not at all, ever, if you’d rather. I’m just saying, _sex_ isn’t going to fix it. Although I’d be more than happy to help you test that theory out.” The pause was kind of breathless, and Derek continued before Stiles could. “Just... Not right this moment. Or for the next few days.”

And for once in his life, abstinence sounded like a good idea. Stiles ached in places he’d never even _felt_ before. Ached in a deeply fulfilled and satisfied way that made him want to burrow closer into Derek and not move for, like, a week. If not for issues like hunger and full bladders and, oh, yeah. Consciences.

“When you say I don’t ever have to tell you... How seriously do you really mean that? I mean... What if it involves you?”

Derek stilled but didn’t stiffen. “Is my _not_ knowing putting me in danger?”

“Well, no, but. I found stuff out, Derek. When I was looking for dirt on Peter. And now I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Stuff about my past.”

It wasn’t a question, but Derek was still surprisingly calm about it. His heart was beating steady under Stiles’ hand. “Yeah. Stuff about you. And Peter.”

“Does Peter know?”

Stiles nodded, not entirely trusting his voice.

Derek gave a small nod of his own. “Then keep it to yourself.”

That... that just blew his mind. There was no way in _hell_ he would ever, _ever_ be able to let something like that go, not in a million years, if it was him. And Derek just... brushed it off. He raised his head to gawk in awe and got a single upraised, supremely amused eyebrow in response.

“Peter might be a crazy fuck, but I trust him where it counts. At least, when it comes to that.” Stiles dropped his head down, trying to shut out his own mind’s sputtering while Derek continued. “When you go through the process – it’s not like you can pick and choose what to forget, but you can decide what you don’t want to be reminded of, if you _do_ forget. You fill out forms, do interviews, spend _weeks_ talking this shit over. I know Peter and I had a past, I can _feel_ that. And if I don’t know exactly _what_ that was, it could only be because I didn’t want to remember it. So, even if I didn’t trust Peter, I can still trust that I had good reasons to make the choices I made.” His voice dropped into a husked out whisper as he continued. “And I know it wasn’t just because of Kate. I don’t know _why_ I made the choice to leave everything behind, but I know I had good reasons for it. I can _feel_ that, too.”

“Even if those reasons left your life completely empty?” He cringed after it came out, but hadn’t been able to keep it from slipping past his teeth.

But Derek shook his head, voice angry but strong. “No. _Kate_ left my life empty. I _had_ a family, even if it hadn’t been the one I had been born into. Reyes. Boyd. Lahey. _They_ were my brothers and sisters. My family died that day in the bank, and that was no one’s fault but that crazy bitch.”

Stiles was gripping Derek’s forearm so hard that his knuckles were turning white, but Derek didn’t flinch, just pulled the hand into his own and held it up to his lips. “So. You keep that secret for me. Now at least Peter’s not the only one who knows. And, if you ever think I _need_ to know, whether I want to or not, you tell me then. Keep it safe for me until then.”

Stiles swallowed tears and held Derek tighter than was likely comfortable, but the guy was a brick shithouse anyway. He could probably stand the excessive affection. And Stiles needed a minute to hold on tight until he remembered how to breathe again. His next question hit Stiles like a cold bucket of water.

“So. I take it you’ve been talking to Peter.”

Technically, it wasn’t even a question. And it sounded a lot more like a demand. Stiles swallowed, not bothering to hide the uptick in his heart, because, really, what was the point?

“I talked to Peter, yeah. Once. It was more than enough.”

“Sounds like you worked something out, then.”

Stiles had to tilt his head up to glance suspiciously. “Really? You got that out of one sentence, did you?”

Derek laughed a little, glancing back, running a soothing hand over Stile’s back. “Not exactly rocket science. If you hadn’t worked something out, the _Once_ would not have been _more than enough_.”

And suddenly Stiles could not look Derek in the eye, dropping his head, not wanting to admit anything, because saying it out loud made it real, and it was possible that he’d gotten himself in way over his head. Not that that was anything new.

“Fine. Yeah, I worked something out. But I’m not going to work for him directly. If he wants my help, he has to do it through you. Those were my terms. He agreed to them.”

Stiles had been marginally worried that he’d overstepped his bounds, not having checked with Derek first, but if the way Derek’s hand cradled warm and heavy over the back of his skull while he took a deep breath was any sign, he’d made the right call.

There was a long pause and then a low rumble. “So this means you’re mine, then?”

Stiles burrowed deeper into Derek before he sighed out his answer. “In all the ways, Derek. Yeah. That’s what it means.”

 

~~~

 

It pleased Derek, sure. Pleased him to no end to hear those words, to know that instead of playing sides against the middle, Peter was going to have to deal with Derek alone, that Derek could be the wall keeping Peter from getting out of hand with Stiles. And since Stiles was already on the books as Derek’s asset, he could still retain _some_ degree of protection from prosecution, should it come to that.

The thing was... The thing was that, knowing Peter the way he did, there was no way he would have made such a huge concession. Not without some sort of reciprocation on Stiles’ part. And Derek wanted desperately to hold Stiles down until he admitted just what the nature of their deal was, but he had no doubts that it went hand in hand with all the guilt and secrets he was struggling with. And he’d already made it clear that Stiles wasn’t under any obligation to give that up. It wasn’t a promise he was willing to go back on.

No matter how loudly alarm bells were going off in his own mind.

And the idea that Stiles _knew_ something about him, something _he_ didn’t even know... as fucked up as it might have been, Derek felt _good_ about it. It made him feel warm. It made him feel _safe_.

Derek was absolutely certain that Peter would have a never-ending litany of snarky things to say about the fact that his psyche had decided to build itself a home in Stiles, but he was past giving a shit.

The kid wasn’t fearless, far from it, he had a long list of things he was, quite rightfully, terrified about. But he kept on in spite of his fears, and that made him a greater force to reckon with than any bullet-proof up-armored strong man could ever be.

He trusted Stiles, implicitly, not just because he trusted Stiles’ intentions, but because he knew that Stiles had the will to see those intentions through. No matter how bad the odds against him looked.

No doubt, Peter was well aware of Stiles’ willfulness as well. And when Derek factored in the concessions he’d been willing to make, he didn’t doubt that Peter intended to take full advantage of it, and likely intended to test the bounds of that will to their fullest extent.

Given how Peter played, it was a definite possibility that no one would be left standing when all was said and done. Stiles was well aware of that, and repeating it would probably do nothing but piss him off. And even though Peter was as good a judge of character as any man, he still didn’t know Stiles the way Derek did. Derek was going to lay his money on the kid. Every fucking time.

“Whatever... whatever’s going on. Whatever happens...” He was threading the line between trust and tact and it made words hard to come by. Stiles had stiffened on his chest, as if he was trying not to scare off a wary animal. “No matter what, Stiles, just know I’m behind you. No questions asked.”

He probably wasn’t meant to hear the whispered _holy fuck_ that Stiles gasped out, but it sounded more relieved than anything. So instead of waiting for an answer, he just rolled them both on their sides and wrapped himself around the kid, ignoring his protests and breathing him in with a nose buried at the base of his skull until both of them drifted off again.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Because they were supposed to have had a deal, and although he’d pegged Peter as a manipulative-as-all-hell-bastard, he hadn’t thought the guy was a lying fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: gore and violence.
> 
> A part of me wants to apologize for what is about to happen. But I'm not going to.

Stiles bit down on the panicked sigh trying to well up out of his throat and tried to focus on the fact that he was pissed. That’s right. Pissed as fuck. Because they were supposed to have had a deal, and although he’d pegged Peter as a manipulative-as-all-hell-bastard, he hadn’t thought the guy was a lying fuck.

And yet here he was, walking into some abandoned house in some dilapidated backwater of the suburbs. For a meet. A meet that explicitly did not include Derek. He was better off angry than two steps shy of shitting his pants, which was the only other reaction this turn of events inspired.

He wrapped his hands into fists to still the shaking, and for the first time in his life he actually wished he had a gun. Not that he usually had any issues with guns, per se, but he had enough of a healthy respect for the damage they could cause that he tended to think they were more trouble than they were worth. The situation at hand had him thinking twice about that.

“Ah, there he is, the man of the hour. Glad you could make it, Stiles.”

He fought the urge to flat-out bolt and followed the voice past the dingy living room and into what had likely been the kitchen before any useable bits had been ripped out of it. Stiles froze in his tracks and tried to process just what it was he was looking at, but it was almost too cliché to be believable.

The brand new bright blue plastic tarp spread out over the busted up formica. The folding chair sitting in the precise center of the tarp. The person tied, torso and ankles on to the chair. It really did look like a scene in one of a million action movies he’d seen. Except the person in question wasn’t a protagonist or a damsel in distress.

It was Kate. He’d had enough pictures of her burned into his retinas to be able to recognize her, even though age had chiseled out her features into something harder. And this was...

“This wasn’t what I said I wanted.” At all. In fact, he’d been counting on never having to actually set eyes on the bitch. Ever.

Peter hummed, sauntering into his line of sight when it became clear that Stiles wasn’t going to be able to tear his eyes off her. “Yes, I know. If memory serves, you asked for her head on a pike. But I seem to be awfully short on medieval weapons. I did bring and axe, though, if decapitation is still on your list of demands.”

Fuck Peter and his fucking glib little bullshit. Seriously. It managed to get his attention though, enough that he finally looked away from her to glare at him.

“ _What I wanted_ was her dead. She’s definitely not dead.”

“Yet. She’s not dead _yet_. That’s where you come in.”

Stiles raised a hand, shaking his head, prepared to argue the shit out of those semantics when the bitch in question cut in, her voice almost as glib as Peter’s.

“Face it Peter, your puppy just doesn’t have the teeth for it. It’s a shame, really. You went to all this trouble and–”

“Shut it, bitch.” _That_ wasn’t glib at all.

In fact, it was fair to say Stiles had never heard so much raw emotion come out of Peter. He even had to take a moment to compose himself before he turned back to Stiles. Even then, he was much more serious than he usually pretended to be.

“You said you wanted proof of the level of my commitment. Now, let’s call it like it is, what you wanted was something you could hold over my head. Knowledge of where the body was buried, as it were. Literally, in this case.” He held up a hand to forestall Stiles’ answer. “Did it ever occur to you that I might want the same?”

The silence held for a beat or two before Peter leaned in and finished with a soft voice, melodic and precise. “You were complicit in this the moment you made your demands, Stiles. If I can’t trust you to back _these_ words with action, why should I trust you with anything else?”

Stiles swallowed hard. He was fucked. Well, truly, and completely fucked. He knew, didn’t doubt it for a second because that was just the kind of psychotic bastard that he was, that if Stiles balked, Peter would let Kate go.

Even though Peter wanted her dead just as badly as Stiles did, he’d let her go. And Stiles knew enough about her to know that _she_ wouldn’t let _it_ go. Given what she’d shown herself capable of doing in the name of avarice alone, he could only imagine what Kate could be capable of in the name of revenge. In the name of survival.

There was no way he could let her leave that house alive.

But when he gave a curt nod to Peter and Peter put a steak knife in his hand, he thought he just might have to. He definitely would have preferred a gun. He made the mistake of looking at Kate. She made the mistake of taking that as an invitation to speak.

“Look at you, kid. You don’t want to do this. Whatever it is he’s offering, it’s not worth it. Trust me, you don’t want that kind of weight on your shoulders.”

And that was fucking priceless, coming from her. He was about to say as much, finding it in him to at least be able to approach her, when another voice stopped him cold.

“Stiles?” It was Derek, just having walked into the kitchen.

He sounded so damned young and terrified that it nearly broke Stiles, and he couldn’t turn, couldn’t bear to look at him. But Kate could. She was even capable of smiling as though she wasn’t about to die, as though she thought that she was going to walk right out of there. And maybe she did, maybe she was just so used to coming out on top that losing didn’t even cross her mind.

There was nothing warm or good in that smile. It was the sort of smile that could make you bleed, and even though he couldn’t see it, he was pretty sure Derek was already bleeding from it. “Oh, and isn’t this just precious. Hello there, Derek.”

“Peter? What’s going on here?”

Stiles knew Derek was smart enough to have a pretty clear idea of what was going on, so he didn’t even try to come up with an explanation. Peter was too busy glaring at Stiles to be bothered to answer either. Stiles could feel his shoulders rising defensively.

“ _What?_ I didn’t do it on purpose. I forgot about the tracker, okay?” And it was true.

Peter’s summons had shaken Stiles badly enough that he’d forgotten pretty much everything, including telling Derek to mind his own business. Not that it would have helped anyway. Probably would have just gotten Derek to come running even sooner, given the way Stiles had been freaking out at the time.

Kate was loving it. She looked nearly gleefully between the three men in the room, finally locking in on Derek once again. “Poor, poor Derek. You’re always the last to know, aren’t you? Don’t you ever get sick of being everybody’s little puppet? Then again, I guess you always did like–”

And hell, no, that bitch was not going to finish that fucking sentence. If the knife buried in her chest had anything to say about it, she was never going to finish any sentence again.

Stiles had no clear recollection of having closed in on her, no sense of having stabbed her that first time. Kate herself didn’t seem to have a clear idea of what had just happened, just stared down in shock and opened her mouth again, but then Stiles was pummeling into her with the knife, spattering blood everywhere, so desperate to make sure that damned mouth just stayed shut that he didn’t stop until someone pulled him away.

It was Derek who dragged him off of Kate, and Derek who lowered him to the ground carefully as Stiles curled in on himself, nearly hysterical with tears. Derek holding him tight and rocking him a little, muttering quiet words that meant almost nothing but didn’t need to. Who placed himself between Stiles and the body.

The _body_. Where it had been _her_ before, now it was just a body. Because of him. _He_ did this. It was an event so massive, so irredeemable, so permanent that he couldn’t stop shaking from it, couldn’t stop feeling horrified even though he knew, _he knew_ how vile she was, how much she deserved it. He’d taken a life. With his own hands, with a goddamned steak knife, he’d turned a _person_ into a _corpse_.

It was apparently not something his brain was entirely equipped to handle.

It was a good thing Derek had driven, because as it was, Stiles wasn’t sure he could have negotiated the forty-five minute ride and two bus transfers he’d had to make to get out there. The car also gave him a safe little sound-proof box to hide in while Derek helped Peter ‘clean up’.

He watched, mind full of white-noise silence as they walked back out, Derek carrying a rolled up tarp over his shoulder, Peter opening the trunk of his nondescript sedan for him to dump it into. Ostensibly, the man knew where to hide the body. Stiles didn’t think he wanted to know, not any more, not ever. Regret was a very palpable thing for him now. It sat like a stone in the center of his chest.

Derek didn’t start the car when he got in. He sat and watched as Peter slipped off, sat and breathed when there was nothing else to watch. Stiles did the same.

“Peter, he said... He said you’d asked for this.  Said you wanted it.” It cut loud through the silence even though it was barely more than a whisper.

Stiles cleared his throat and had to work to find his voice again. “Yeah, I... I wanted her dead, okay? I asked for her dead, said I’d work for him if she was dead. But I didn’t... I didn’t...”

And nope. Still not something he could say out loud. Still something that had him hunched and half-gagging on his tears before the words could even form. Derek’s heavy hand running up and down his back helped Stiles calm, helped his get his breath back.

“Why?”

It was a fair question, and Derek’s tone was free of judgement. Stiles had had a litany of answers when Peter had asked the same only days ago. He practically had a dossier on the bitch, but now that he needed them, the words just wouldn’t come.

He gritted his teeth and stuttered through an answer. “Because she... I wanted to... _for_ _you_. Because she hurt you.”

It was the best he could do. And although Derek gusted out a breath like he’d been gut shot, he nodded, coming back to himself as he sat back and started the car. Stiles guessed it was good enough, at least for the time being. Good enough to get them home, at least. Good enough to get them moving. He was pretty sure he couldn’t ask for any more than that.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _After all, it wasn’t every day that an heiress to one of the country’s most influential corporations died in a violent and gruesome fashion._

The night was a detached numbed blur accentuated with bouts of uncontrollable shaking, sudden crying jags and Derek, calm and steady, methodically cleaning every last speck of trace evidence off of Stiles’ body. There had been blood everywhere. He’d even gotten it in his underwear. That would have made him laugh, if it hadn’t made him puke instead.

But Derek took care of him. Dragged him down two floors below the basement to some ancient incinerator to destroy the evidence rather than let Stiles out of his sight. And somehow it helped, watching his stained clothes burn. On any other day the whole secret-sub-floor-with-incinerator setup would have had him as giddy as a chipmunk, he was sure, but he did at least feel himself settling back into his own skin as Kate’s blood was reduced to ash.

Derek said he shouldn’t worry. Said that Peter wouldn’t let him be incriminated. _Incriminated_ , he’d said, and Stiles had wanted to argue that the word Derek was looking for was _caught_ , but he was new to the murder scene, and maybe those sorts of semantics mattered somewhere down the line.

Derek was pretty sure that Peter had gotten exactly what he’d wanted and then some when it came to Stiles. He seemed pretty convinced that after this, Peter was going to be making Stiles’ survival and well-being a priority.

Stiles was going to have to take Derek’s word on that. After all, Derek had been right about Peter before, and Stiles had been a idiot not to listen to him then.

 

It would have been nice to put the whole thing behind him, to bury it someplace deep and deal with it in the form of unexpected flashbacks or something, but by the time he walked out of Derek’s apartment the next day, Kate was everywhere.

After all, it wasn’t every day that an heiress to one of the country’s most influential corporations died in a violent and gruesome fashion. The fact that she’d been found in the seediest part of town, in the back lot of a recently shut down illegal sex-club certainly helped fan the flames.

Even if his dad was fuming, Stiles was unbelievably grateful that some undoubtedly Argent-influenced top level political wrangling had pulled the case out of his jurisdiction before his officers had so much as cleared the scene. It made the shit-show of a bungled investigation that ensued much more amusing to watch.

It wasn’t so much that the investigation itself was flawed, it was just that there were very few clues to be found amongst a huge pile of salacious evidence. And the whole investigation leaked so badly that they might have been better off if they’d made it into a reality show. From Stiles’ point of view, watching the whole thing unfold, having known what _really_ happened, it was breathtaking. He might have even gone as far as calling Peter a visionary genius, if he ever planned on speaking to Peter again. Which he didn’t. Ever.

The first tidbit the media got wind of was the fact that she’d been the apparent victim of a mugging. In and of itself, that would not have raised so many eyebrows, were it not for the next twist, the unexpectedly delicious irony that although her valuables had been stolen, the thief had apparently missed thousands of dollars worth of pharmaceuticals that were hidden in an inner pocket of her purse, which had been found, along with the murder weapon, in a dumpster a few feet away.

Hot on the heels of that discovery the autopsy report landed in a tabloids’ inbox, and the pundits and professional speculators nearly went rabid with their analysis, words like _dramatic overkill_ and _crime of passion_ repeated like a mantra. Coupled with the location of the body and the drugs she’d been carrying, the story was tabloid gold, provocative and irresistible, the true-crime gift that kept on giving.

Her past was delved into. Stories came to light, painting the picture of a misguided party girl with ruthless appetites. That was until someone got wind of the fact that those drugs had been parceled out, individually packaged. As if intended for resale. And the collective public gasp hadn’t even died down on that when it became public knowledge that she hadn’t actually been killed in the alleyway she was found in.

By the time an online tabloid announced that it had gotten ahold of the tox-report on the drugs and they had been found to be pharmaceutical-grade narcotics cut with a potentially toxic mix of chemicals, the Argent contingent had had enough.

The reporter was arrested when he refused to give up his source, and would have been made an example of, were it not for the fact that the online blog was, in fact, loosely affiliated with one of the largest media conglomerates in the country. A conglomerate which took great exception to the violation of their first amendment rights. Great, vocal and litigious exception.

By the time the dust died down on that side-show, Senator Argent had been disbarred and was facing impeachment charges. And as a result of some in-depth and hard-hitting investigative journalism (and Stiles had to snort at that one, he really did), every single one of Argents subsidiaries’ government contracts were terminated pending review.

The investigation into Kate’s death stalled out. Speculation ran rampant, conspiracy theories abounded, and a never-ending stream of daytime docu-dramas were produced, but in the end all they had was a body, a stripped out purse with a hidden pocket, a common steak knife with a textured handle that didn’t hold finger prints, and a mile-long list of people with a hundred good reasons to see her dead.

Peter and Derek weren’t even on that list. Not even with that handful of people who remembered the tragedy of the bank, who suspected more about Kate’s involvement than they ever had evidence to prove it with but would have always put the Hale men on the top of the list of suspects should Kate come up dead. Her stab wounds were just too shallow to have been caused by a physically augmented person, and the nature of the wounds too uncontrolled and sloppy to have been made by someone with combat experience.

Stiles knew that because Derek had been told as much when Internal Affairs stopped by out of courtesy, not so much to tell him that he was not under investigation, but to verify with their own augmented senses that having Kate’s face incessantly plastered in his line of sight wasn’t driving Derek batshit. He got the all clear. They even commended him on his level-headed response to the events at hand. Derek had just been glad to see them go.

 

Stiles was just glad he wasn’t going to go to jail. Even if he wasn’t entirely certain he deserved to go free. Not that he was wrecked with remorse. As the days passed and every bad assumption he had made about her was confirmed, he was pretty sure that the world was a better place without her in it, but...

But he’d killed someone. Pretty much as cold-bloodedly as you could without actually planning the killing yourself. He killed someone to shut them up, and well... that was pretty fucked up.

He was pretty fucked up.

He managed, as best he could. Knew it would get better with time, or at least he hoped it would, hoped it wouldn’t just sink in and fester even though it wasn’t something he was ever going to be able to talk about with anyone other than Derek. And he didn’t really want to talk about it with Derek, not for himself as much as for the guy who was having to deal with vivid reminders of the monster who wrecked his life every damned day as it was.

It definitely changed him. Enough that his dad noticed, thought Stiles had relapsed again, started making him piss in a cup at random moments, started monitoring his activities, even though there wasn’t much to see. Stiles had managed to stay sober, but that was about all he had been managing.  He lost track of time for a while, letting days roll over each other, days where he didn’t want to leave his room, let alone his house. He wasn’t sure if that was fair to Derek, but Derek said he understood, didn’t push, just let Stiles know that he’d be there when Stiles needed him. When Stiles was ready.

When the drug tests all came back clean and answers weren’t forthcoming from his son, his dad, being the good cop he was, started asking questions elsewhere. Questions, in particular, about a retired police officer, his record, and his interpersonal relationships. Enough that it caught Peter’s attention.

Enough that Scott stopped by to tell Stiles about it, how Peter had asked Scott to sit in on a meeting where Peter told the Sheriff all about how Scott had introduced him when they had a research quandary, and how grateful they’d been for Stiles’ assistance on a matter that they couldn’t go into detail about, how most everything that had been going on was highly classified.  When they were done, Peter made sure to walk the man out on a route that took him right past Derek, who was part of a task force, helping to decode Deucalion’s facts from his self-aggrandizing fictions. None of them said a thing, but Derek and his dad locked eyes for a solid beat before they moved along.

The Sheriff stopped asking questions after that. Started looking at Stiles with a whole lot more concern and a whole lot less suspicion than he had in a long time. Stiles couldn’t decide if that made things better or worse, so he raided his dad’s liquor cabinet just to even shit out a bit.

Apparently, that hadn’t been the best call. At least, leaving the empty bottle of scotch out on the kitchen table before he stumbled off to bed had been a mistake. And probably, if he was really going to be thinking things through, he shouldn’t have made it his dad’s favorite single-malt, either. Regardless, whether it had been a slew of stupid choices or a half-assed cry for help, it was, apparently, his dad’s last straw.

But whatever outcome he’d expected from his pubescent antics, he could honestly say that the last thing he thought he’d find when he stumbled out of his room was Derek, sitting patiently at the kitchen table, empty bottle in his hand.

The thunderous look on Derek’s face had Stiles thinking maybe he would have rather it had been his dad. Probably his dad had figured as much, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's that you say? Loose ends tied up far too neatly?  
> To which I say that _getting away with it_ doesn't ever really fix anything.  
>  That, and I'm a little too busy writing hot sex to be able to hear you dear, could you speak up a little please, or, better yet, just wait for the porn and everything will be just fine.  
> I promise.  
> ; )


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Derek? Think you could help me out? ‘Cause I can’t get that bitch out of my head and it’s driving me fucking nuts.”_

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Not that Stiles didn’t have a fairly clear idea exactly what it was Derek was doing in his kitchen, but it got the ball rolling, at any rate.

“Your dad called. Asked me to keep an eye on you.” And when that didn’t get enough of a response out of Stiles, Derek leaned in. “ _Your dad_ , Stiles. Think about that for a minute. Just how worried do you think he’d have to be to call _me_ for help?”

Stiles shrugged as he dove for the fridge and pulled out the milk. Because, unlike what _some_ people thought, milk was actually an excellent antidote for a hangover, thank you very much _Scott_. And thinking about milk made it much easier _not_ to think about all the other shit he definitely didn’t want to be thinking about.

Like Derek. Sitting at his kitchen table with his arched eyebrow of judgement. He gave the man a flail for good measure and bobbed his head before he answered.

“Yeah, so? I heard about the whole show-and-don’t-tell moment Peter orchestrated. My dad knows you’re active duty now, not some bad-guy loose cannon. I’ve had cops babysitting me my whole life, man–”

“It doesn’t matter _what_ I do for a living, Stiles. I’m not just some cop, I’m the guy that put a _collar_ on his _teenaged son’s neck_. He’d have to be _incredibly_ fucking worried to be contacting me. He knows you better than anyone, so tell me, Stiles, _why is he worried_?”

And yeah, that was a whole encyclopedia of Nope right there. He dropped into a chair, biting down so hard it sparked a headache as he was shaking his head, _refusing_ to let his nausea get the better of him.

“No. Fuck no, Derek I am not going there today. Not now and not with you. I don’t _know_ what my dad’s worried about, because my dad doesn’t _know_ a fucking thing. And my dad’s not going to know a fucking thing because I’m gonna get over it, okay? On my own time and in my own way and you don’t... you shouldn’t have to...” Fuck. If he wasn’t going to say what he _wasn’t going to say_ , he had no idea how the fuck to end that sentence.

Or any other, really. He just... Honestly, why couldn’t everyone just leave him the fuck alone? It wasn’t like any of them could help, or make things better, or make somebody _not dead_. Regardless of whether or not they deserved it. Not like Stiles had a right to judge, after all, Stiles was a murderer. He had no right to judge anyone again. Ever.

He hadn’t noticed that he was clawing at his skull until he felt Derek’s hands pulling at his wrists and pinning his hands to the table in one solid grip, wrapping his other hand around his throat, tilting his head up with a thumb to his chin. There was a banked rage in Derek’s eyes, not like he was mad at Stiles but like he was ready to go to war for him.

“You’re _mine_. She’s taken enough. I’m not letting her take you too.”

Stiles caught his breath on a little sob, could feel cold rip through the inside of his chest, tears rising with every thought he’d been trying to fight down. His voice was little more than a whisper, but he forced himself to keep his eyes on Derek’s, to give him that much at least.

“I can’t stop _thinking_ about it, can’t stop feeling the way my hand... and the knife... can’t stop _hearing_ it.” Derek’s grip had softened, he’d slipped to a crouch so that their foreheads were pressed together, Stiles whispering into the secret little space it made. “And I get that she was evil, I do, It’s just that I can’t stop, I _couldn’t_ stop, and she’s... she’s _dead_ , and there’s no coming back from that, there’s no fixing it, and I can’t stop thinking about that _look_ on her face. She was so confused, so surprised, and she didn’t _look_ evil, she just looked _human_ , and then... and then...”

Derek breathed quiet into the space, let Stiles’ words settle before he whispered back. “She laughed, Stiles. When I saw her, later. At the hearing. When I had to talk about what I saw, about the team, how they were snarling like dogs and screaming so loud that they couldn’t hear me and I couldn’t calm them down, couldn’t call them off, and all I could do was hide under a desk. One of the lawyers asked me why I was the only one lucky enough to be a coward and she _sat there_ in the front row and fucking _laughed_ , Stiles. She _was_ human, and she deserved far worse than what you gave her. She was _lucky_ it was you. And it’s not fair, it’s not right that you had to do that, that you have to carry it, but _don’t you dare_ feel bad for her. Don’t give her your guilt, because she doesn’t deserve it.”

Stiles wasn’t sure, exactly, why it helped to hear Derek say those words, but it did. It loosened his chest enough that he could breathe a bit more freely than he had in days. Derek had leaned back slightly, his own eyes damp as he thumbed Stiles’ tears, the look in his eyes so blown open and sincere it almost frightened him.

“And don’t think, _for a second_ that it was the only time she ever hurt someone to get what she wanted. She _liked_ that kind of shit, liked the rush she got from making other people suffer. She’d be laughing now, if she could see you, if she could see what this did to you. Don’t give her that. Don’t let her win, Stiles.”

Stiles couldn’t help but let out a little snort in response. “ _How?_ How am I supposed to do that, Derek? ‘Cause believe me, if I knew how to let this go I would have, days ago.”

Derek’s hands had migrated to Stiles’ shoulders and he gripped them firmly, eyes searching. “Trust me? Just let me. Let me take care of you. _Talk to me_. Tell me when it’s hurting you. I can take care of you Stiles. I can take care of that. But you have to talk to me.”

So maybe he’d been wrong, thinking he had to protect Derek from this. After all, Derek had been dealing with Kate’s ghost for a long time. Maybe taking care of her fallout, maybe taking care of Stiles was more like an exorcism than opening old wounds. Maybe it was more than Derek had been able to do for himself when she’d wrecked his life. And maybe Stiles was trying to protect himself just as much as he’d been trying to protect Derek. So maybe it was time to start trusting him, instead.

“Could you?” But dammit, he wished his voice didn’t have to sound so small. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Derek? Think you could help me out? ‘Cause I can’t get that bitch out of my head and it’s driving me fucking nuts.”

And so help him, the smile he got in response was feral enough that it went straight to his dick. “Yeah, Stiles. I think I can help you with that.”

~~~

In the darkest parts of his mind, Derek chuckled at the thought that the whole setup did look a bit like an exorcism. And maybe, in some ways it was. It was an absolute certainty that Stiles wasn’t thinking about _her_ at the moment. He probably wasn’t capable of _thinking_ much at all, only feeling, flowing into Derek’s hands like a cat as he ran a broad palm up his flank and Stiles shuddered and fucking _mewled_ when he thumbed his nipples.

He’d tied Stiles’ hands to the headboard with a couple of cheap polyester neckties that Stiles had found somewhere in the back of his closet, blindfolded him and stuck headphones over his ears so that he couldn’t see what was coming, couldn’t even hear it, was completely at the mercy of Derek’s touch. And then he started slow.

Painstakingly slowly. Agonizingly slowly. Torturously slowly, if what Stiles had had to say about it had been any indication. Because he had left Stiles’ mouth free. He intended to make use of that. Eventually.

Stripping him had been fun, all light touches and slow slides, feather glances of his fingertips, just enough to call up goosebumps in their wake. He’d never get over how responsive every inch of him was, magnified even more now that Derek’s hands were the only sensory input he had.

And now Stiles lay before him, stripped bare and squirming, breathless with need and anticipation. Derek plucked one of his nipples, pinched it between thumb and forefinger and tugged, just to hear his thready _ahhh_ and watch him arch his back. He was gratifyingly surprised at the way that Stiles begged him to keep going, begged him not to stop when he let go, but he slipped his hands down lower anyway, grazing the back of his knuckles over Stiles’ cock, watching it jump with the sensation, listening to the way Stiles caught his breath like he’d jumped into cold water.

He toyed with Stiles, a light touch here, a pinch there, never anything long lasting, never anything predictable until every breath he took was a gasping open-mouthed sob and every touch made him shudder in response. Until his chest was heaving and he was throwing his head from side to side, trying to beg but incapable of finishing a single word, and then Derek stopped. And slipped a single well-lubed finger between his legs, holding it still, pressing lightly against his hole.

Stiles froze for a second, but when it was clear that Derek wasn’t going to move, Stiles moved himself, taking him in completely. He’d squirmed his way pretty far up the bed, so he had more than enough space to gain purchase with his legs, and it was only a matter of a few thrusts before he was fucking himself thoroughly on Derek’s finger, taking in two and then three without a pause when they were added, bucking and squirming on Derek’s hand with careless abandon, lost to the sensations.

It was nothing short of a frenzy when Derek wrapped his mouth around Stile’s cock, still letting him do all the work, letting him fuck himself on Derek’s fingers and fuck his mouth with tight sharp thrusts until he came, teeth clenched and body tight like he’d been hit with a cattle prod, milking his fingers and coming down his throat in a twitching shudder.

Derek eased him down with soft touches, soothed his hands up and down his body and slid up slowly, until he held Stiles’ head up with one hand and rubbed his own hard and leaking cock over his mouth with the other. The response was languid but enthusiastic in its own way, Stiles licking and sucking on him as though his cock was some sort of delicacy to be savored, pulling a shuddered gasp out of Derek.

He slid in and out of that plush mouth delicately, fucked him gently but thoroughly, enjoying the way Stiles swirled and slid his tongue over every inch he could reach, swiping around the crown and over his slit, nearly kissing the head of his cock every time Derek pulled out far enough. It wasn’t long before he had to pull away completely, and the whine Stiles let out was nothing short of adorable.

As cute as it was, he preferred the long slow moan that came after, when Derek spread him open, slid in balls deep on one slow thrust and draped himself over Stiles, covering his whole body, satisfying the hunger for sensation his body had been primed and starving for. He fucked Stiles slow, with leisurely thrusts that were more about the warm slide of skin on skin than about chasing down any sort of release, and Stiles reciprocated, his body sliding against Derek’s in sinuous waves, wrapping his legs around his waist and holding him in tight, not letting go until long after Derek had come.

It was probably ill advised, to invoke her when Stiles was in this state, vulnerable and open, but Derek couldn’t help it, had to be heard, had to make sure Stiles would _hear_ it past any defenses he could build up against himself, so after he dimmed the lights and pulled Stiles out of his cocoon of darkness and silence, he laid his hands on the sides of his face and whispered, “You killed that woman for me, Stiles. _For me_. You did that for me and for no other reason. That means everything to me. _You_ mean everything to me.”

Stiles was bright-eyed but he wasn’t crying as he pulled Derek in and held him tight enough to bruise. Tight enough to chase the ghosts away. They woke up that way hours later, Stiles still holding tight but breathing steady. The ties were still wrapped around his wrists, but the bruises that he’d had under his eyes seemed to have faded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 34 chapters is an estimate, but I think it's a fairly accurate estimate. We are, at any rate, almost at the end of this story. I have no follow-up stories planned in this verse, but if it should call me back, I will turn this into a series.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Derek was still pissed off about losing that argument, pissed off about the whole setup, and even more pissed off now that he was going to have to admit that Stiles had been right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm warning for cruel and debasing language, but the person saying it and the person it's being said to both know it's part of an act. What with the whole undercover thing going on and all that.

It had been close to a year since they had started up, and yet the kid was still capable of making his brain skid to a crashing halt with alarming regularity.

Derek was perfectly willing to admit to a lapse in professionalism when he had to stop dead in his tracks and just _stare_ at the sight before him. Stiles, in the half-lit alley behind the bar, pinning a man to the wall with one leg shoved between his thighs and a hand holding his wrists above his head. He was practically gnawing on the guy’s throat, and Derek would have lost his shit completely if he hadn’t also noticed the bulge in Stiles’ back pocket that hadn’t been there before.

Because, _right_ , this was a job, and Stiles was playing his part with the wild-eyed determination that came of having discovered that their mark wasn’t just an online pill-dealer but also had a lucrative side-gig going, talking middle-school girls into taking naked pictures of themselves and then selling them to any and all interested parties.

The problem had been that although the guy was highly visible on the net, his real identity had been impossible to track down. Even after Stiles had managed to charm his way into a meet, they’d taken his picture only to find that he was so low profile that he’d never made it into any face-recognition databases.

So Stiles had insisted on diving in again. And Derek was still pissed off about losing that argument, pissed off about the whole setup, and even more pissed off now that he was going to have to admit that Stiles had been right. Because that was the guy’s wallet in Stiles’ back pocket, and _that_ would have all the answers they would conceivably need.

If he had to admit it, he was even more pissed off about how damned _devastating_ Stiles looked, his attention sharp and feral, pinned on the mark’s face, breathing in the hitch in his breath with a vicious smile. It was _doing things_ to Derek. Things that made him feel completely unprofessional.

Thankfully he’d managed to harness that anger into something he could use by the time the guy looked up and noticed Derek.  There must have been something vaguely murderous in his eyes going by the way the guy stiffened and tried to pull his hands free, but Stiles was having none of it, not even turning to look at him, just tilting his head when Derek managed to make words.

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He thought the growl in his tone was a nice touch, even if it wasn’t entirely intentional.

Stiles let out a small laugh, his voice almost singing. “Oh, _hi_ Derek. Just having a little fun. You do remember _fun_ , don’t you? It’s that _thing_ you never let me have any of.”

That had been the plan, Stiles would play the bored and jilted boy-toy, Derek would play the jealous lover. In theory it sounded pedestrian. In practice, Derek was having trouble remembering that he was _playing_. He stalked up to the pair, closing in on Stiles with a breath on his ear and hands on his hips. Tried not to get too smug about the way it made Stiles shudder almost imperceptibly, but it was hard to hide the grin. Not so hard to hide the movement of his hand pulling the wallet out of Stiles’ back pocket. The guy’s gaze was pretty much locked in terror on Derek’s face.

“Yeah. I know what fun is, you little shit. You think this little stunt you’re pulling is _fun_?” Christ, he sounded like he’d been chewing gravel, but this was no time to clear his throat.

Stiles was practically simpering in response, and Derek had no idea if it was supposed to be for his benefit or the other guy’s. “It _could_ be fun. Maybe he’d like to join us. That could be _lots_ of fun.”

He wished he could say that it was all an act on his part, but there was something brutal ripping open in his gut. And by the calculating look that had started to creep into the guy’s face, he knew they needed it anyway, needed Stiles to be feeling a little more fear than he’d like to admit to if they were going to sell it.

So he broke his own rules, took on a sharper edge than he’d ever use in any other context. “I’m gonna make you _bleed_ , you fucking cockslut. I’m gonna tie you up and not let you come for _days_. I’m gonna make you earn that collar you’re wearing, make you beg like a whore until you remember whose _bitch_ you are. You think your little _friend_ would like that?”

He hadn’t noticed that he was pulling on the collar until Stiles gave out a little gasp before he spoke, talking breathlessly to the guy in front of him as he searched out his face. “Don’t listen to him, baby, he doesn’t mean it, I swear–”

But the guy had clearly had his fill, taking advantage of Stiles' loosened grip to squirm out from under him and hightail it out of the alley. Derek was pleasantly surprised to feel Stiles loosen and lean back against him as soon as the perp was out of sight. He wrapped his arms around Stiles, gentling him in a hold that was all the apology he was capable of mustering for having to pull shit he’d been opposed to from the start. Stiles tucked his face into Derek’s neck, and that might have been an apology of its own.

Still and all, he didn’t let go of the collar for the whole walk back through the bar and out to the parking lot, didn’t let go of Stiles until he had him seated in the car and _had_ to. Even then, he felt his stomach drop a little when he let go, felt like he’d tripped over his own feet for a second, and it was enough to get him thinking.

He handed his phone and the wallet over wordlessly and Stiles called Peter to give him the guy’s ID. Stiles kept it on speaker because he always did when he had to talk to Peter, even though Peter was always on his best behavior when it came to Stiles. Especially after Stiles shut him out completely for a whole month the one and only time he had acted like an ass. Even Peter had been impressed with how thoroughly Stiles could put someone on ice if he was of a mind, and Stiles was far too good at getting results for Peter to want to alienate him.

And taking in the way that Peter acted, listening to the clipped cold tone Stiles had taken, remembering the way he had their mark entirely at his mercy, not a single ounce of hesitance or timidity in him... It had Derek thinking even more. It had him _wanting_. In ways he hadn’t even thought himself capable of any more.

And fuck if _that_ wasn’t a bit of a shock.

Then again, if there was _anyone_ he’d come to trust with the most tender parts of himself, if there was anyone he could turn to for anything, it would be this kid. And with that _fire_ the kid had in him, well... It could be really good. It could be what he’d been yearning for, like an itch right below his skin, like an unfinished thought that kept stalling out in his mind. It could be _right_.

They headed back to Derek’s apartment because they always did after a job, to decompress in whatever fashion suited the moment, whether it be fucking like kings or getting blind drunk and cheating each other at Gin Rummy. They both found it easier to unwind when they were with each other, which was yet another thing Derek had never felt with anyone else. It was likely that he could spend a solid week just coming up with examples to support his newfound revelation, but he figured he’d just cut to the chase instead.

If Stiles had found anything odd in Derek’s behavior, he didn’t say anything about it, just settled down on the couch and started skipping through channels as Derek made a beeline for his room. It was surprising, how little time it took him to dig out what he’d been looking for. He was back in the living room before Stiles had even found something to watch, and he nearly dropped the remote when Derek tossed a heavy black collar into his lap.

There was a tremor in his hand as he looked from the collar and back up to Derek, fumbled for a few seconds before he managed to turn off the TV, fumbled for a few more seconds with half-uttered words until he took a deep breath and waved Derek down to sit next him.  “This... Can you explain this? ‘Cause I think I’m gonna need some words to go along with this. Is it yours?”

Derek nodded and tried not to look too pleased at the way he could hear Stiles’ heartbeat rise, the way a flush had started creeping up his neck, the way he already smelled halfway to _warm_ and _hungry_.

But this did deserve words. And he needed to come up with some. “I just. I want it sometimes. Not all the time, but I think I’d like this. With you. From you. I think you might like it too.”

And if Derek had had any doubts left, they disappeared when Stiles’ gaze narrowed, went from possibly horny to _thinking_ and aware. “Okay. You’re probably right. I bet I would. But what do you _want_ , Derek? You’re going to have to use your words, here, because there’s no way I’m going to go into this without knowing how I could fuck you up.”

Stiles was right, even if it shook Derek up a bit to have to say it out loud. “Don’t... No humiliation. And don’t call me _pet_. A little pain with the pleasure is fine, it’s good, just not _only_ pain. I like being bitten. I mostly just want you to be in charge, want you to _take_ , want to be helpless to it. It’s not like I couldn’t break free, it’s not like I couldn’t overpower you if I had to, but sometimes I think I’d just really like to feel like I’m at your mercy. Like I’m _yours_ to do with as you see fit.”

He hoped that was enough. He’d forgotten how hard it was to tell someone that what you wanted was to be vulnerable. How flayed open it made him feel. It wasn’t an altogether _bad_ feeling, but he had to fight against the urge to shut it down and take it all back. He had a feeling it would be worth it, though.

If the hungry wicked grin on Stiles’ face was anything to go by, it definitely would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, yes, this does mean we get a little taste of Top!Stiles and Bottom!Derek. I haven't tagged for it yet because I didn't want imply that it had happened yet, but it will in the next chapter, so if you have issues with Derek being submissive, you might want to get off the train now and pretend this chapter never happened.  
> Sorry not sorry, though, because I love me some switch.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was kind of a big deal. The kind of big deal that had the definite potential for words like performance anxiety to come into play, hell, he could probably think himself straight into a panic attack if he gave himself a minute or two. But then again. There was Derek’s collar. Right in his lap._

_Holy Shit_.

That was about all that Stiles could come up with for a pause that lasted about five beats too many, but _come on._ Derek Motherfucking Hale. Asking him, _him_ , of all the people on this godforsaken planet, to take control. To put him on his knees. It was one hell of a thing to process.

Not that he hadn’t thought about it. Not that he hadn’t _pictured_ it in his most private of moments, but it wasn’t something he’d ever thought would happen. Not in the real world. Not given Derek’s history, not given everything that had happened to him, given the way his life had been fucking _strafed_ the last time he’d given this much over to someone.

It was kind of a big deal. The kind of big deal that had the definite potential for words like _performance anxiety_ to come into play, hell, he could probably think himself straight into a panic attack if he gave himself a minute or two. But then again. There was Derek’s collar. Right in his lap.

And there was Derek himself, already past the moment of awkward shyness that had come when he’d had to answer Stiles’ questions, now just standing there with a small smile on his face and a glint in his eye like he knew damn well that he’d just shoved Stiles’ brain into a cold reboot and _fuck that,_ seriously, fuck that gorgeous little smirk, maybe even literally, because Stiles was all in with whatever it took to wipe that self-amused look right off that sexy bastard’s face.

All in. He was going to make that cocky fucker _beg_. And make damn sure he loved every single moment of it. He let his head drop back and looked at Derek through his lashes, digging deep to find every last ounce of cool and collected he had left.

“All right. So, come here.”

Derek did, moving with that sleek grace he always did, stopping between Stiles’ knees. Stiles splayed his legs, slouching back to look up at Derek, drinking him in with a long considering stare, palming his own dick, already getting hard. He remembered the first time they’d been in a similar position, and the way Derek had shut him down cold. It hadn’t been _that_ long ago, but it felt like a lifetime or two had passed since then. This time Derek watched Stiles’ hand with naked heat but didn’t move otherwise, even though Stiles could see the bulge in his pants growing.

“Getting hard?” Stiles surprised himself with how smooth and quiet his voice sounded.

Derek answered with a nod, not entirely able to make eye contact, but he widened his stance just a little, like he wanted Stiles to see, and Stiles definitely thought he could work with that.

“Show me. Take yourself out. Touch yourself for me.”

He gave his own cock a lazy squeeze and stroke through his jeans, just a tease as he watched Derek unbutton and pull the zipper, pushing his briefs down and pulling his cock out, holding himself loosely, giving himself a few strokes with the pads of his fingers before he licked his hand and tugged himself with a solid grip, swiping his thumb over the crown on the upstroke, letting out a small soft grunt and biting his bottom lip.

Stiles didn’t hold in his own groan, tucking an arm behind his head as he took in the sight, Derek working himself with a tight fist, his hips thrusting just a little, eyes closed and head thrown back. “Jesus, look at you. How are you even real? I think I could come just from watching this.”

Derek slowed and looked back down, another small grin playing on his lips, but this one wasn’t taunting, it was hot and alive and just for Stiles. “Is that what you want? Your own private show? I could finger myself for you, too. Fuck myself open while you watch...”

And holy fuck did that idea have merit. “That sounds hot as fuck, and maybe we can do that some other time. But I think I want to get my hands on you tonight. Sound good to you?”

Derek gave another quick nod. “Yeah. Yeah, Stiles. Anything. Anything you want. _Please._ ”

And wasn’t that just a crazy ego boost? The man was already begging and Stiles hadn’t even touched him. He had to clear his throat before he kept talking. “Okay. Okay, let’s take this to the bedroom. Now.”

Derek let go of himself with a gasp like a swimmer coming up for water, nodding fast and helping Stiles up before turning to go. Stiles walked behind him with a hand on the small of his back, savoring the possessive thrill it gave him to touch like that.

He stripped Derek as soon as they stopped walking, trailing his hands all over the man’s body as he pulled his clothes off. He’d brought the collar in with him, lifted it a little with a questioning glance and Derek responded with another small but emphatic nod.

“All right, then. Kneel.”

Watching Derek kneel was a thing of beauty, and being able to run his hand over the back of his neck and lock his fingers in Derek’s hair felt like a revelation, even though he wasn’t sure just what it was he’d discovered. Just that something in Derek _loosened_ when Stiles tightened his grip and pulled his head back. Something softened, and it was a heady thing to feel all that strength and power flowing under his hand. Responding to his touch. _Needing_ him.

By the time he’d fastened the buckle on the collar and Derek dipped his cheek into Stiles’ palm, he felt himself changed. Maybe not a different person, but like a different part of himself was coming through, a part that was a little heady and a little frightening because it _wanted_. In ways that were less than polite, that made him want to grip too tightly and smile with far too many teeth and growl out words like _mine_.

And if the half-lidded hungry way Derek held his gaze when Stiles slipped a thumb between his lips was anything to go by, Derek was perfectly on board with whatever was showing on Stiles’ face. He noticed movement, though, small twitches in his arms, his hands almost lifting off his thighs like he couldn’t really hold it back, and it brought Stiles back to his senses.

Because this wasn’t just about him. It was about Derek, and what he needed. And if he took a moment to _listen_ to this body he knew so well, he’d be able to satisfy a part of Derek that usually lay hidden in the deepest corners of his mind. _This_ was what Derek was giving over when he handed Stiles that collar.

So maybe it wasn’t about making the man beg. Maybe it was about laying the man open, letting him show all his softest parts, about being strong, so that he could be weak, so that he could do nothing more than _feel_ and know that in his most helpless moment, he was safe. _Stiles_ could make him safe, could take him past all his own defenses and hold him steady in his own arms. And the idea that Derek was giving himself over was stealing his breath almost as much as it was making his dick leak.

Stiles took a step back, rummaging through Derek’s drawer, glad for the brief reprieve as he dug out lube and the leather cuffs Derek had refused to let Stiles take home. And there was something comforting in handling the familiar soft red leather straps, a quick reminder that he knew where Derek was right now from the benefit of being on the other side.

It gave him the confidence he needed to slide down behind Derek’s back and run steady hands down from his shoulders to his wrists, pulling his arms back and binding him wrists to elbows. The position did beautiful things to Derek’s body, pulling his shoulder blades taught and close together, making him bow slightly while still pushing his chest out.

Stiles slid his hands forward and tucked his chin over to look down, running his hands over Derek’s ribs before thumbing his nipples. Derek leaned his head back on to Stiles’ shoulder, his hiss sounding almost like a sigh when Stiles thumbed a nipple to hardness and then tugged. He played with Derek’s other nipple while he slid his hand down to give his cock a few strokes before taking his balls in hand, rolling and squeezing lightly as he gave his nipple a hard pinch and the small gasp Derek let out in Stiles’ ear was enough to make his mouth water.

It took Derek pressing his ass back against Stiles for him to realize that he was still fully clothed, and there was something heady in that, something tantalizing in the way it kept his senses dulled, made it easy for Stiles to grind his crotch against Derek’s ass while he milked precome out of Derek’s cock with a deft stroke and squeeze of his thumb. Derek was practically panting, his face buried in the crook of Stiles’ neck, leaning back hard against Stile’s chest, letting out small whining gasps.

Stiles stilled, running his hands up and down Derek’s flanks until he calmed before Stiles pulled away and stood. He had to take a moment, then, just for himself. Just to look at Derek, flushed and breathing heavy, his cock standing hard and deep red, his eyes glazed and half-lidded, lips bitten red and licked shiny.

“Fuck, just look at you, half gone and beautiful for me, aren’t you?” He couldn’t really say where the words were coming from, could hardly recognize his own voice, gone raw and deep with want.

He came in close again, leaned down to take his lips in a kiss, as deep and dirty as it was gentle, then pulled him by the collar, leading him on his knees to the foot of the bed where he dropped a pillow for Derek to kneel on before he sat on to the bed, bracketing Derek with his knees. He undid his zipper and finally freed his own cock, watched Derek lick his lips in anticipation, and how could he deny that?

He slid forward, pants pulled as low as he could without impeding movement, and with one hand on the back of Derek’s head and another on his cock, guided himself into Derek’s mouth. Derek groaned and sucked him down like his cock was some sort of delicacy, and all Stiles could do was lean back on his elbows and watch for a while.

Even without the use of his hands, the man was gifted, stroking with his tongue while he sucked, toying with the head and slit on the upstroke, eyes closed, his whole face looking like a concentrated state of bliss. Stiles had to fight to keep his hips flat on the bed, but he wasn’t going to choke Derek on his cock, not tonight, not until ha knew that was really something the man wanted. Besides, he wasn’t ready to come. Not yet, anyway. Still and all, he had to give Derek a sharp tug to get him to stop, pulling him back by the hair until his back was arched and he was panting, eyes snapped open and looking a little lost.

Stiles soothed him with hushed whispers and soft touches, stood and slid around him, pushing his chest down on to the bed and pulling his hips into the air. He made quick work of his clothes as he stroked his hands over Derek’s flanks and down his back again, soft long strokes that Derek stretched into like a cat. He slid his hands progressively lower, first to slide over his ass and then dip into the crease with more and more frequency, running a light hand up from his balls as well, until Derek had his ass up as high as he could get it, knees splayed wide and begging with his whole body, shuddering when Stiles finally ran the pads of his fingers over his hole.

And because he was a dick, and maybe also because Derek kind of had it coming, he didn’t warm the lube up with his fingers, just held him open and poured some on. It got the jump and growl he’d been expecting, and shocked Derek just enough that he lost his breath when Stiles slid a finger into him, smooth and steady, pulling out and pushing in with long deep strokes until Derek’s whole body was rocking with the movement.

Stiles took his time, adding a finger only after his whole body loosened, and waiting again on the third, moving slow and steady until he was stretching his fingers apart and pulling him open on the outstroke, twisting his wrist and corkscrewing in, rubbing his prostate with full undulations of his hand and Derek was just _taking it,_ glassy-eyed and gasping out small soft noises.

Stiles couldn’t help himself, buried his fingers in deep and _toyed_ with him as he leaned over Derek, running a hand over his head and tugging on his hair, bringing his face up close so he would _have_ to look.

“You’re _amazing_. Look at you, just _taking it_ like this. So gorgeous... You want more, Derek? Think you could take more?”

It wasn’t a light question, not really. Sure, Derek bottomed from time to time, but not often, and what Stiles was doing... well, it was a lot even for him. But Derek just bit his bottom lip like he was _hungry_ for it and nodded hard before gasping out a half-broken _Yeah_ , and Stiles wanted to gasp himself for how desperate he looked for it.

He eased up and went slow, watched Derek’s body tense and loosen in increments as he slid in, looking for any sign that it was too much, but Derek just let out a gut-deep groan and choked out a much louder _Yeah_ when Stiles bottomed out and rocked his fingers softly. He barely had to move his hand before Derek was beside himself, hands tightened in fists and rubbing his face on the mattress, begging _yes_ and broken _please_ with choked-off sobs, tears running down his face.

Even if Stiles knew Derek could take more it was a moot point, because Stiles certainly couldn’t. He slipped his hand out and his dick in before Derek had time to register the loss, and Stiles had to take a moment, drape himself over Derek and just feel the hot soft squeeze around his dick, Derek loose but swollen, no doubt _feeling_ him much more thoroughly for the use he’d just endured.

If the long sigh that came out of him was anything to go by, Stiles knew just what Derek was feeling, a relief of the pressure but the ever present sense of being _filled_ , touched deeper than fingers could ever reach. And if the way Derek was starting to shift his hips and squeeze was anything to go by, he knew just what Derek wanted now. Stiles knew what _he_  wanted from Derek when it came to this moment, when he was soft and loose and capable of taking it. So he gave it a test, sliding out smooth and ramming back in hard, holding Derek by his bound arms and Derek tightened just that much more around his cock and started with a litany of _fuck_ and _yes_ and _Stiles_.

Stiles lost himself to the hot hard slide of a solid fuck, burying himself as deep as he could and pulling almost all the way out to do it again and again until Derek was a writhing sobbing mess under him and he could feel it building all the way from his toes and scalp, a tingling rush zinging into the core of his body as his balls tightened up and he threw himself over Derek’s back as he came, biting down hard on his shoulder and wrapping a hand around his cock, riding out the aftershocks of his own orgasm on the tight clench of Derek’s, coming down off his high to the half-hitched sound of sobs.

He’d drawn a little blood on the bite. And nearly panicked for a second, until he got a good look at Derek and realized that he looked more like he was laughing than sobbing, and more than anything looked like he was riding out the tail end of one hell of a high.

It brought out every protective bone in his body to see Derek so done in, and it made him meticulous in his aftercare, even if he was riding a high of his own. He took him out of the restraints and helped him crawl with shaky limbs on to the bed, checked him for injuries and wrapped him up warm before fetching a warm rag to clean him up.

Derek was tender but not hurt, and it was so strange for Stiles to be on the other side of this, to be the one looking after Derek while he lay as limp as a noodle with this serene little grin on his face. It filled him with _so much_ to know he’d been the one to bring Derek to this point, and his chest was burning _hard_ with a flood of warmth and pride and protectiveness, and he wondered how Derek could stand it, could stand to let him so much as leave the bed let alone his home if this was how it felt after.

He got it, then, the way that Derek would wrap himself around Stiles, the way that he would hold on as if somebody might come along and steal him. The way that tracker was still active, to this very day. It wasn’t just because Stiles demanded it, because it made him feel safer to know it was on, to know that Derek could find him, no matter how bad shit got.

He got it, then, just how much he meant to Derek, like, for the first time _really got it_. Derek wasn’t just into him. Derek was just as balls-deep fucked up and stuck on Stiles as Stiles had ever been on the surly bastard.

And he tried, god knows, Stiles really tried to keep his cool after that little realization sunk in, but he must have been grinning so big that it lit up the room if the way Derek dropped a hand over his face was anything to go by. Whatever. The bastard could front all he wanted. _Stiles knew._

He got it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted and forgot to leave a note! (forgive me, its late and I have promises to keep)  
> To all you lovely kudos-ers, bookmark-ers and most importantly commenters, thank you so much for your awesome comments and support, thanks for taking this ride with me, and I hope it was as fun for you as it was for me!  
> Your love has blown me away, and I feel honored and happy that you were able to find a bit of escape in my little world!  
> Until the next fic,  
> : )

**Author's Note:**

> Questions and comments and love are welcomed, and as of yet all the input I've received has been brilliant and awesome and I love all of you. 
> 
> But honestly? Unsolicited criticism is non-consensual crit. Don't like it? Move on to find something you do like and read that. Or better yet, write something. There's always room for more. 
> 
> And get the fuck off my lawn. *cocks shotgun*
> 
>  
> 
> [my art (main) tumblr](http://vendettalee.tumblr.com/)  
> [my writing tumblr](http://vendettaleewrites.tumblr.com/)  
> [my fangirl tumblr](http://dontbeafuntcart.tumblr.com/)


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